The M Word
by darkestswan
Summary: The "M Word" means so much more than "Macbeth" to Emma Swan. It's a phrase of bad luck and superstition that means Marriage, Mating, Men... But all it takes is rising star Killian Jones to walk into her life, and suddenly Emma considers a change of heart. After a lusty missed connection and a passing year, the interviewer and actor get a second chance at the L word- Love.


"I am _so_ _excited!_ "

Mary Margaret bounced on the balls of her little bow-tipped feet, clinging onto her playbill tightly. Emma made the executive decision as best friend to gently remove it from her grip, hanging on to both of their programs and tickets outside the beautiful exterior of New York City's Public Theater.

"I know, but don't take it out on the paper," Emma scolded with a joking smirk. "When we get Dorothy to sign them, they'll be worth something. Then all we have to do is hit up eBay and sell each for three hundred. I can get Henry an Xbox and you'll-"

"End up spending it all on art supplies for my students," Mary Margaret sighed, pixie-cut hair drooping over her pouting face. Emma shrugged, red leather jacket crinkling with the movement.

"I was going to say spend it on a date with David, but you're probably right," she replied, lifting up her water bottle in the air sardonically. "To the New York City public school system, cheers!"

Mary Margaret plucked the bottle from Emma's grip and took a long, dramatic drink.

Of course, Emma's qualms with New York schools didn't stem entirely from her best friend's underpaying job. Sure, she'd studied it from the sidelines over the years of Friday night dinners with David and Mary Margaret. But once upon a time, she'd had the displeasure of actually _dealing_ with it first hand, while growing up as a foster kid on the city streets.

School had never been her style. Maybe it was the loneliness, bad food, terrible teachers, or her tendency to get into fist fights, but no matter what the reason, mandated education always struck a sour note with Emma Swan.

Because of this difficult relationship, she almost always ended up sneaking out after the first class period.

After the first bell rang and the popular new-money princesses in their Calvin Klein sequins had a good laugh over her lost-and-found commoner ensemble, she was off to the men's restroom on the third floor.

She would beeline to the third stall and climb onto the toilet in order to reach the only bathroom window in the entire school. However, metal bars guarded her exit, trapping her and everyone else in the school. But this was no problem for a girl like Emma Swan. She just needed to pull out a key and twist off the rusted screws one by one. They came away easily enough, and a single push to the swinging window led to Emma's freedom.

After an easy enough hop onto the next roof, it was down the fire escape and directly down into the subway station for some adventure.

That adventure often took her to where she was now- the theater. Whether it was Broadway, off Broadway, or off-off Broadway, Emma Swan may have been ditching math class, but she was street smart when it came to the arts. She learned the just-so way to fold a lottery ticket so her name would be drawn for a free matinee. She befriended the ushers and on occasion could charm one of them into letting her take an unsold seat. She posed as a reviewer from any paper with a flashy name, and suddenly the box office manager would "find" her ticket in the system. She snuck into the theater during intermission to catch the second half of the show. She dressed in all black and posed as a crew member, entering through the back door of some squalid theater to watch the show from dark corners, or even the catwalk.

Emma Swan loved the stories. Every single play was like a new, exciting fairy tale. They all meant so much more than dancing and singing and glittery costumes- they were an escape, a well-needed and well-deserved one at that.

But as always, good things for her never lasted long.

Emma had made the mistake of falling for the son of a very wealthy and powerful Wall Street money monger, who owned a few of the theaters downtown along with various hotels and businesses. At first, Neal seemed like her savior. He showed her attention, seemed to appreciate her for her wit and street smarts. He was rich enough that he could buy her tickets to any show, but most of the time he had her picking locks and sneaking in anyway. He was privileged, wealthy, but liked the thrill of acting out. Dating Emma, it seemed, made him feel free or badass.

And dating Neal seemed to come with perks. He let her stay in the basement in one of the theaters after Emma was placed with the horrendous Tremaine family. Emma had been grateful which, in hindsight, was ridiculous. She hadn't even considered the fact that Neal was in his twenties, that he was rich enough to set her up in an apartment or give her a room in one of the hotels his father let him run. But she was naive and wanted to be loved. For once she felt like she was vital to someone. Someone important.

But then Emma, only seventeen years old, got pregnant. When she told Neal the news, he ratted her out to his father _that day._ She was arrested after police stormed the theater basement, finding her wrapped up in a small blanket and surrounded by high school math homework.

Mr. Gold was not a forgiving man, and he demanded she be given the maximum sentence for second degree criminal trespassing: one year. The impish man had visited her in jail once, simply to tell her that no matter what happened with the baby, no one would _ever_ believe that Neal was the father, nor should she ever try to prove it unless she wanted her child to be "born into a world of pain."

She gave birth behind bars, scared and alone. She made the decision to give her son up order to give him his best shot at life, knowing fully well that she couldn't do it by herself.

When she got out, things had changed. Security was heightened in every theater. She was officially an adult and out of foster care. After much deliberation, she decided to put her city education to use and become a bail bonds person. It wasn't until David Nolan bought the bar she frequented from age 20 that she got the chance to meet his wife, Mary Margaret, and consequently become best friends with the two of them. She'd tried not to love them, tried to remain angry that the old owner, Ingrid, was selling and moving off to Iceland, but it was no use. They'd clicked, and they went from pals to family.

Today, she was getting to see another member of her little but close knit family- award winning actress Dorothy Gale- perform as Lady Macbeth at the Public Theater. Emma had seen Dorothy in some of her first performances, and had been a fan of hers from the start of her career. Having her as a friend was even better than having her as an idol, though Emma hadn't exactly _kept it cool_ when Mary Margaret introduced them during Emma's first official Nolan Thanksgiving. It still worked out in the end- the two of them finished the night on the couch bonding over Edward Albee and pumpkin pie, laughing so hard tears escaped their eyes.

When Dorothy announced her two month limited run as Lady Macbeth at the Public, her friends had been initially skeptical. In the year prior, Dorothy had begun to consider starting her own family. She was too busy to date, which led her to the decision to use a sperm donor. The procedure was successful, and she was only a few weeks pregnant when her agent told her she had been offered the role in Macbeth.

It was a great opportunity, but Dorothy was worried. The higher ups weren't very feminist, and having a baby on the way could cause some tension with the men in charge. Emma admired Dorothy for refusing to give up her art because a handful of misogynistic industry idiots might judge her for working or disregard her worries as hormone flares or morning sickness, and encouraged her to be as private as she wanted to be.

"But if they find out afterwards- which they will, I plan on being very fat, you know- they might think I was being petty, trying to trick them," Dorothy had said, frowning into a cup of coffee. "I don't want to burn any bridges."

"People are gonna tell you who you are your whole life," Emma replied. "You just gotta punch back and say, 'No, this is who I am.' So take the role, Dorothy."

So she did, and the moment had arrived to see the performance.

The two were led into the theater, Mary Margaret even bouncier than before. They took their front row seats, and waited for the lights to go out, surrounded by a sold-out audience. Emma gave up on trying to save the playbills from her friend's nervous grip, and as the show began, Mary Margaret held on to her hand so tightly she winced.

The anxiety lasted through the opening scene with the witches, and then scene two with Duncan and his informants. For a moment Emma wondered if Mary Margaret was going to be able to pull it together.

However, this thought was banished from her mind the moment Macbeth made his grand entrance onto the stage.

" _So foul and fair a day I have not seen."_

Out of absolutely fucking nowhere, as though she'd been hit by a bus, Emma realized that _she_ was going to be the one out of control that night because holy shit, the man on stage was _gorgeous_ , and holy shit, she was in deep trouble.

" _Speak, if you can: what are you?"_

Emma was relieved (and admittedly, a little disappointed) that he wasn't talking directly to her in that utterly sexy, warm, silky voice. She wouldn't have been able to speak in return, only gawk in a stunned sort of awe.

" _Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted_

 _As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!"_

She hadn't bothered to flip through the playbill and check out the cast members, seeing as she was only there to support Dorothy. It would have been pointless anyway, because no small black and white headshot would have prepared Emma for the absolute _god_ performing feet away from her seat. He was stunning even under the unforgiving stage lights, with dark, shaggy hair and well-groomed scruff framing his pink lips.

" _Your children shall be kings,_ " he spoke, those pink lips dancing along to the lilt of his English accent.

Emma's eyes were longing to sweep down his frame, but instead she glanced up. Under any normal circumstance, even in the front row, an audience member would need glasses and a telescope to see someone's eyes during a production… but his was such a piercing blue that Emma knew she would walk out of the theater _haunted_ by the exact way they darted around the room.

Her want won out against her logic, and her eyes raked further down his taut body. They paid special attention to his toned arms, one of which was gripping at a sword strapped to his upper thigh. When her gaze reached the area right below his hips she literally gasped, mentally thanking the costume manager and god alike for fitting this man in such tight pants.

She must have gasped a little louder than she realized, because suddenly it seemed like the actor's eyes were pointed right at her. _Could he be staring at her?_ Would he break character to look into the audience? To look at _her?_ She swore that they kept that eye contact for hours, the entire scene, act, _show-_ when really it had to have been three seconds.

Still, it was three seconds too long, because Banquo had finished his lines and it was Macbeth's turn to speak. He was just half a step out of time, quickly recovering and delivering his dialogue with the ease of a well-prepared artist, but Emma knew that he was off and wondered if the rest of the audience noticed as well. She hoped not, and found herself quietly rooting for him.

The eye contact seemed to take place for the rest of the entire show, and Emma couldn't help but fidget in her seat uncomfortably, attempting to relieve the pressure building between her thighs. Eye contact, _only eye contact_ , and she was twitching like a horny teenager in her chair. _Pathetic._

When it came time for intermission, she had two cocktails, downing one right after the other, before being able to go back inside and face her tormentor.

And did he _ever_ torment.

"For certain friends that are both his and mine,

Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall

Who I myself struck down; and thence it is,

 _That I to your assistance do make love,_

Masking the business from the common eye

For _sundry, weighty,_ reasons."

The way he talked to the murderers, his inflections on anything that could be considered innuendo… it was obvious torture meant to break Emma Swan into pieces. He almost changed the meaning of the entire speech, his tongue sweeping over those pink lips, his voice adding extra weight to the words "do make love." There was such darkness in his eyes, and while every unassuming audience member would see that darkness as evil or rage, Emma recognized it easily as lust. He was almost daring her to climb onstage with him and kiss his…. everything.

"Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep

In the affliction of these terrible dreams

That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,

Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,

Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In _restless ecstasy._ "

Again, he lingered on the phrase " _restless ecstasy,_ " and though his focus was on his stage wife at the moment, Emma still understood the intention.

Dorothy seemed to be handling her costar with grace. She was probably well aware that most of the audience had come to see her, not this strange newcomer who had been cast as a young Macbeth. A young, _sexy_ Macbeth.

" _How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!_

 _What is't you do?"_

Emma was entirely captivated by Macbeth's desperation in meeting the witches again, but audibly gasped when they took off his shirt to spread a muddy paste on his chest for their magical ritual. He clearly broke character, letting out a low, throaty, _sexy_ chuckle that perhaps only the first three rows could hear. While his director was bound to be unhappy, Emma imagined that if Shakespeare himself was in the room, he would be beyond entertained.

She shifted in her seat again. When it was time for Macbeth to die, she felt a sense of dread washing over her, aching to keep watching him act and move and speak. Innuendo kept dripping down his chin and onto the stage, trickling down to Emma.

'I will not yield,

To _kiss_ the ground before young Malcolm's feet,

And to be baited with the rabble's curse.

Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,

And thou opposed, being of no woman born,

Yet I will try the last.

 _Before my body… I throw my warlike shield."_

Emma had known from Dorothy that this version of the play was going to show Macduff cutting the throat of Macbeth. This was a rather brave choice, and Emma had no doubt that the actors could pull it off entirely if they put their minds to it.

The gorgeous actor playing Macbeth though, before the lights had faded entirely and not a moment too soon, glanced at Emma and he _winked at her he absolutely winked at her_ there was no way he hadn't, but no one seemed to notice or care, they clapped and clapped until their hands got tired and the play could continue. Emma, however, was far too shocked to even give the cast a few grateful snaps.

When it was time to leave, Mary Margaret had to poke her to remind her to get up. For some reason Emma had been banking on there being a bow at the end. Upon realizing there was none, she found herself overcome with utter disappointment.

How _embarrassing._

She and Mary Margaret were taken backstage into Dorothy's dressing room, dodging all the press gathered in the lobby. Emma glanced around a bit to look for her Macbeth, but he was nowhere to be found, and she thought his absence was perhaps for the best.

Dorothy greeted them in a white robe with an earnest hug for each of her friends. Emma managed to sputter out her favorite scenes relating to Lady Macbeth, still a little stunned but slowly getting back to herself. After ranting and raving about how wonderful the show had been, the conversation turned to the subject of business.

"The producers are livid with me because I won't do press," Dorothy sighed. "I'm just too grumpy and tired! I'm going to need one hell of a better reason than an _online article_ to stay at the theater for an extra hour, rather than getting to go home and eat pickles with peanut butter in my bed."

"We saw all the press in the lobby and outside," Mary Margaret nodded. "They're dying to talk to you."

"Yeah, especially your boss," Dorothy replied, turning to Emma pointedly. "She's been trying to get an exclusive for _Red Apple Magazine_ since the show was announced. I'm glad she doesn't know that we're friends, otherwise she'd be hounding you too."

"And I'm glad I work with film critique and not theater, or there's no way she wouldn't have figured it all out by now," Emma sighed.

It was true. Bringing in an article about Dorothy Gale, the recluse actress who refused all other interviews, would certainly have given her a huge leg up at work, but she'd worked very hard to encourage Dorothy to live the private life she wanted. She wasn't going to ask her to change her mind, especially since she'd been so happy this way.

Before Emma could voice this, Mary Margaret piped in.

"You and the cast were fantastic, and your _costar!_ He was a phenomenal Macbeth."

Emma didn't have to look in one of the four mirrors lining the wall to know that she was turning pink, but luckily her friends were too involved in the conversation to notice.

"He is, though he was off his game tonight. Not sure why," Dorothy replied, and Emma felt even more heat rising in her cheeks.

"I didn't notice anything! I thought he was just astounding. And he's a newcomer?"

"Yeah, it's infuriating," Dorothy chuckled fondly. "I'm having to run off to puke during rehearsal with the morning sickness, and he's always, always astounding. Even I can't find fault with him. How is it that my makeup artist watches me dip apples in cool ranch and puke it up ten minutes later and she's oblivious, but Killian buys my unborn kid a pirate onesie during the _first week_ of rehearsal? And he's a perfect gentleman about keeping it a secret and covers for me to boot?"

Emma was feigning disinterest, though in reality the name _Killian_ was repeating through her head. It was a nice name.

"Hmm," she replied, keeping her cool. She was grateful that Mary Margaret was intrigued enough to continue the conversation about her Macbeth.

"That's very kind of him," she smiled, placing her hand on Dorothy's arm.

"Big time," Dorothy replied. "If I even look slightly nauseated he suddenly gets an inspired question or brilliant idea so I have time to sneak off."

"Well, he sounds like a perfect gentleman!" Mary Margaret said, clearly impressed. Emma decided to put her two cents in, her inner cynic starting to rise up and chip away at the attraction she felt towards this absolute stranger.

"My guess is that he likes you and has no idea you're into girls," she said. Both Mary Margaret and Dorothy rolled their eyes, but Dorothy stepped forward, looking thoughtful.

"You know, Emma, it's really funny you say that because, for this entire run, I haven't been able to stop thinking about how well you two would get along."

It was Emma's turn to roll her eyes.

"Seriously? I work with enough actors. I know their type. And it's hard enough being friends with _three time Tony Award winner Dorothy Gale."_

"I hear she's a drama queen who won't take interviews!" Mary Margaret added slyly.

"Oh quiet," Dorothy replied, subject effectively changed. "Regina Mills can manage with a bigger star."

It was true. Regina Mills didn't need any help getting celebrities wooed towards Red Apple Magazine. It was as intellectual as a museum, as popular as Vogue, and Regina was queen of the entire empire.

If someone had told sixteen-year-old Emma that she'd be an interviewer for an arts magazine, she'd have laughed it off- but only in attempt to make it _seem_ like she didn't care. Deep down, little Emma would have been wishing and waiting for the time to come, to find success and purpose.

But it wasn't sixteen-year-old Emma who needed a good kick of believing- it was twenty-eight-year-old Emma, and that's exactly what happened.

Henry Mills had knocked on her door nearly in the middle of the night, introducing himself as her son. This led to a complicated series of events involving his adopted mother, Regina Mills. Originally, it was not easy, far from it. Regina was hesitant to let Emma into Henry's life, and Henry was too stubborn to allow his birth mom to be pushed out of it. After a few months of conflict and tension, Regina Mills and Emma Swan eased into a better relationship, united by the love they had for their son.

One day Henry dragged both of them to a movie, an indie film he'd read about in Regina's magazine. After it let out and Henry turned his attention towards ice cream, Regina casually asked Emma if she'd liked the picture, and Emma answered.

There was a long pause after she replied, a cold pause that was not uncommon for Regina, but made Emma nervous all the same. Finally Regina spoke.

"You know, Miss Swan," she began tentatively, "that was not a bad answer. Intellectual, actually, and could have given our head article writer a run for his money. I know that you grew up watching theater, Henry told me, and I wonder if you would be interested in taking a position at Red Apple. As an interviewer."

Emma stopped in her tracks. Regina halted as well, though she made sure to keep an eye on Henry, who was doting over some gelato.

"I…" Emma began, not knowing where to go with whatever sentence she was trying to attempt. She couldn't imagine anyone turning down a position at Red Apple, but having Regina as a co-parent _and_ a boss sounded like a curse. She swallowed, regaining her composure. "I have a job, Regina."

"Mom! Moms!" Henry called excitedly. "They have blue ice cream! It's _blue!"_

"You can get a small cone," Regina called back.

Emma, feeling a little rebellious, added "But you can have _two toppings_!" before turning to Regina and raising an eyebrow, as if to say, _do you really see this working out?_

Regina cleared her throat.

"Miss Swan, I know you are very successful with your job as a bail bonds… person. But for better or for worse you are in Henry's life now and, I can't believe I'm saying this, we'd all rather keep it that way. He used to be able to… cope. With having one mom, but not anymore. Can you understand why we might not want him to go back to that again?"

Emma stood in shock, trying to function with Regina's sudden… kindness? Was it kindness? It was balanced so that it wasn't overtly nice in a way only Regina could manage, but the point still hit home. Just a week before, a perp had slammed her head into a wall. She caught the bastard, but she'd been concussed and had to stay in bed for a few days, meaning that Henry couldn't visit for his share of the week. It had hurt him. A lot. She knew that. But her heart sank as she realized what exactly it was she was doing every day, dressing up in short skirts to seduce assholes into traps, signing herself up for violence and even revenge. Potentially, that drama and danger could make it back to Henry.

But work for Regina as an alternative?

"You won't work directly under me. Not at first… if you stay and enjoy the job then you might find yourself in higher ranks of power. But I will ensure that you do not see much of me, Miss Swan. I really do insist that you take this offer, for all of our sakes. If it helps, we just fired an interviewer for selling intel to tabloids. I need someone I can trust."

Henry had trotted up to them, taking Emma's hand in his, blue ice cream and rainbow sprinkles all over his face. Emma looked into his eyes, his smile, and turned to Regina resolutely.

"Okay. I'll do it."

Luckily for Emma, it was one of the best decisions she had ever made. She started as a junior interviewer for indie films, but her skills as a bail bonds person helped her rise to the top, gaining the best intel, flaunting the highest charisma, and utilizing her top-class interrogation skills to impress everyone at the magazine. One year later, Henry was eleven, Emma was one of the head interviewers for A-List movies, and she was hoping for a promotion.

Which was why the day after seeing Macbeth, lunch with Ruby was so difficult.

"Emma, please. I know you already got me the interview with Regina, but everyone is going to be coming with amazing interviews and job experience whereas I-"

"-have been writing puff pieces for Sidney Glass' tabloids, I know," Emma mused, stirring her hot chocolate and cinnamon.

"You know how embarrassing that is?" Ruby wailed. "Not even cover pieces for tabloids. Puff pieces."

"You can tell Regina it's because you weren't invested in it, that you were looking for something deeper, just trying to pay the bills," Emma suggested, though even she knew that excuse was weak.

"I am looking for something deeper, something to prove my deepness and depth and-"

"Ruby," Emma groaned, crossing her legs under her seat. "I was the one who gave Dorothy the idea to lay low, okay. I wouldn't feel great about asking for this favor."

"Emma," Ruby matched her tone, crossing her legs as well. "I've never met Dorothy Gale but from the way you and Mary Margaret talk about her, she is nice and understanding and supportive of the arts. This, for me, is the biggest art I could ever conquer. Red Apple is a pulitzer prize winning publication, and not all of us can just be _handed_ a job by the CEO."

Emma gave her a pointed look.

Ruby looked down apologetically.

"I didn't mean it like that," she sighed. "But… I'm too old to go back and work at Granny's. I don't want to fry onion rings or fry the reputation of D list actors. I want to be a part of something big. Can you please ask Dorothy for twenty minutes?"

Emma stared at the melting whipped cream in her hot chocolate. She knew that Ruby deserved a fair shot. Emma had worked out the opportunity for her to be interviewed amongst the other candidates for the theater journalism spot, but it was true. As talented as Ruby was, she hadn't been given a fighting chance.

Emma was worried. Regina wouldn't be happy if she found out Emma had been hiding a friendship with Dorothy Gale. Truth be told, there was a position opening up for a red carpet interviewer. Red Apple had conquered online and printed publications, and it was time to delve into live video interviews. Emma could not imagine a better job, spreading her wings into the realm of television and traveling to Sundance, Cannes, the Academy Awards, premieres all over New York, events not just with famous actors but with writers and directors…

Regina had said "In a business where women are asked who they're wearing and men are asked who they're screwing, we need to send in interviewers who are actually talking about art. The people, as usual, don't even know they need it, but when they get it, they won't be able to let go and we will change the world."

Emma knew that deep down, if Ruby joined Red Apple, she'd change the world too.

She sighed, finishing off her cocoa in a long gulp before setting it down.

"I'll call Dorothy right now."

* * *

Only a few hours later, Emma was back at the Public with Ruby in tow, clutching her front row seat tickets as hard as Mary Margaret had the evening before. Ruby was ecstatic. Emma felt a mix of nausea and anticipation.

What would _he_ think, of her returning so quickly? When she'd gotten home the night before, she'd cursed the fact that she had forgotten to grab another playbill. However, when she entered the theater again, she made a point not to get one. She didn't want to know his full name, didn't want to be thinking about him for weeks on end. He was an actor, and even though Emma worked in film, she decided that she couldn't mix work and play. It was a very mature, reasonable decision.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she couldn't help but be scared of Dorothy's words: "I haven't been able to stop thinking about how well you two would get along." A real relationship sounded… well, _real._ For now, she was busy with Henry and trying to get that promotion and if she even had time to scratch an itch, it was nothing but one night stands for her. Still, even with these thoughts- no, _facts,_ circulating her mind, when Emma took her seat she had first date level butterflies.

Ruby was lost in her own excited world, as per usual.

"This is going to be so great, I've never seen Mac-"

"NO!" Emma gasped, placing her hand over Dorothy's lips. Her palm was going to be smeared with red lipstick but she didn't care. Ruby squirmed, attempting to bite Emma's fingers, but after she settled, Emma pulled away with a stern look.

"What the hell!" Ruby exclaimed, reaching up to dab at her lips with her fingers.

"Ruby, you _can't_ say that word in a theater. It's serious bad luck," she explained. "You can call it the Scottish Play, or the Bard's play, or the M Word."

"What do you care?" Ruby asked. "You think some myth is going to ruin Dorothy's performance?"

Emma shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed that it hadn't been Dorothy's luck she was fighting for.

The lights dimmed. The witches entered, and completed the first scene. Having watched the show literally 24 hours previously, Emma wasn't so focused this time around, trying to survive the anticipation of her Macbeth returning to the stage.

When he did, he was just as beautiful as the night before. Emma swallowed, trying to stay cool in front of Ruby, who could smell any sort of attraction, from any party, ten miles away. Macbeth was deeply rooted in the scene, but when his eyes glanced to the audience, he made a sudden double take, and turned his entire face to hers.

Emma couldn't help but smile.

Macbeth grinned back, but there was something different about his features. They were no longer dripping with flirtatiousness or innuendo. He turned back to the witches and Banquo, and leapt into the scene with a new vigor.

 _It was the performance of a lifetime._

Emma had never seen anything like it, and clearly neither had the audience. Even Dorothy seemed a little bemused on stage. Ruby had to reach over and hold Emma's hand multiple times, and though the entire world was familiar with the tale of Macbeth, every single line and action and twist seemed reinvented and new. Macbeth was a vision, and though he hadn't turned around to chuckle or flirt with Emma like he _might have maybe probably definitely_ done the night before, she couldn't help but think that this performance was still, in someway, for her. The thought made her heart swell with a strange sense of pride for this stranger.

When it came to the final battle between Macduff and Macbeth, Emma was on the edge of her seat. The anguish and recklessness of Macbeth ripped through the audience, and the moment Emma was attempting to hold back tears, the lights dimmed…

And the bastard, he _winked._

No one else could have noticed, no one would have been looking for it in the split second between light and complete blackout, but he winked and he winked at _her._

Emma shuddered, and practically dragged Ruby backstage to introduce her to Dorothy and get the hell out of there before she made a ridiculous mistake like deciding to stage door or break into his dressing room. She knocked on Dorothy's door, looking left and right, hoping that _he_ wouldn't be turning the corner. Dorothy opened up and ushered the two of them inside.

"Dorothy, Ruby. Ruby, Dorothy," Emma said hurriedly, bouncing her heels on the ground. There was a moment of silence and she wondered if they were staring at her. Anxiously she glanced up, only to find that they were actually gazing at each other. She almost felt the need to remind Ruby that they were there for a reason, but the crimson-lipped brunette quickly put on a winning smile and reached out to shake the actress' hand.

"Hi. I'm Ruby Lucas. I know Emma told you about me, but she didn't tell me nearly enough about you. That was… an incredible performance. You're breathtaking onstage, and clearly offstage too."

Dorothy blushed, really blushed, and muttered a shy thanks and something about starting the interview. They both turned to Emma, who stupidly stared off into space before realizing they had their eyes fixed on her.

"Hmm?" she asked. Ruby jerked her head to the door. "Ah, yes. Interview. Okay, well, should I…?"

"I… I suppose you could stay if you wanted," Dorothy shrugged, though she'd spoken rather glumly. Ruby, less kind, shook her head wildly behind the actress, mouthing " _NO NO NO NO NO_."

"Actually, when I interview I always prefer one on one," Emma replied, stepping backwards towards the door. "So I will leave you two… _alone_. Ruby, do you want me to wait in the lobby, or…?"

"No need to wait up, Em," Dorothy hastily responded. "We might be here for awhile. Haven't interviewed in a bit so I may have lost my touch."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," Ruby laughed, her hand landing on Dorothy's shoulder with expertise.

Emma took that as her cue to go. She opened up the door, deeply relieved to find that her Macbeth was nowhere to be found, before heading out to the lobby so she could escape in a cab.

But it seemed like a handsome actor was not the priority when it came from escaping. She reeled around the corner to find the one and only Regina Mills talking to another member of the press huddled in the corner. With a slightly stifled gasp, Emma managed to hastily retreat back into the dressing room hallway, deciding it would be best to wait outside Dorothy's dressing room until she was sure everyone was gone. She didn't expect on seeing them for a while; she had a feeling that their interview might turn into a longer conversation, and that the conversation would eventually be moved to a restaurant for dinner and drinks. Emma allowed herself to smile. It seemed like this was a winning day for Ruby. If Regina Mills, queen of Red Apple herself had marched over to the Public, she must have _really_ been desperate for a Dorothy interview. When Ruby came into the office on Saturday armed with one, she would surely be a shoe-in for the job. For a moment she thought maybe it all would be worth it. It hadn't caused too much trouble, and-

"HEY! HEY YOU!"

Emma turned around to find a grumpy looking man with a mop stomping towards her, eyes blazing with anger. Emma turned around to nervously glance at the door, debating whether or she should leap in and interrupt the interview. But for the sake of her friends, she decided to try and use her bail bonds person charms to figure this one out by herself. She put on a winning smile and shook out her golden hair, a trick that usually made a bit of a difference with the male bail jumpers she caught.

"Hi there, sorry, I'm just-"

"No one bothers Dorothy Gale!" the man spat out. Emma blinked in shock, but still attempted to charm once again.

"Look, there's been a mistake. You see, I'm actually a friend of-"

"A friend of Dorothy's?" he scoffed, the hair trick clearly not affecting him. "No way, if that were true you'd be in there and not out here. You're just a fan, or worse! A member of the press, and I'm going to call security and have you dragged passed _everyone in the lobby_ and thrown out of this theater where you will never-"

"No no no, you can't kick me out through the lobby, kick me out the back! That'll be just as good right?' Emma pleaded, unable to stop thinking about what would happen if Regina saw her come out of one of the actors' hallways. She'd probably get burned at the stake.

"Hah! That will be the best part, missy," the janitor replied. "The damage to your pride, the humiliation of-"

Suddenly from behind her, a miraculous hand appeared and rested on Emma's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Leroy. She's with me. No need to have her dragged out and publicly humiliated, but maybe tomorrow night? If we're all up for it?"

Emma swallowed, unable to even turn around. _It was him_. Macbeth. Killian. That damn lilting voice of sex, just his goddamn _touch_ had somehow given him away.

Leroy huffed, dragging his mop down the hallway in an agitated fashion. Emma stayed still until he was all the way down the hall, his mutterings growing distant as he turned the corner, all the while trying to focus on her senses to stay calm. This didn't work. His smell was spicy and musky, the feeling of his hand- covered with multiple heavy rings- shot electric signals into her entire body. After perhaps too long of a wait, Emma found the courage to use sight and peek over her shoulder. She was immediately met with deep, ocean blue eyes and had to literally look away from them to catch her breath and use her words.

"Um, thank you for that. I should probably go before-"

"Come with me, love," he whispered, his lips pressing against her ear, and _god_ that was it. She was done for, past the point of no return. Emma turned around and they started to rush through the hallway. She glanced down when she felt a warmth between her fingers and realized that he'd engulfed her hand in his so he could pull her through the catacombs of the theater. Somehow it was worse than watching him onstage in all his glory. Somehow it was endlessly better. And while she had no idea what was about to happen, her chest was filling up with a warmth, a confidence, that kept her feet moving.

She followed him into his dressing room, their hands parting as he closed the door and turned to her, taking her in. Panting. Gleaming. Like he wanted to do things to her, like kiss her senseless and go on a walk in the park and fuck her against a wall and discuss nothing but books for hours and so many other things in those eyes.

The tension in the room was tangible. Electric. All they were doing was staring at each other and Emma was worried she was going to go into cardiac arrest. So she chose to look at the floor and speak.

"Thanks, I was… trying to escape my boss. I saw her in the lobby and ran the other way."

"Ditching work to see a show?" he asked, and Emma made the mistake of glancing back up at his face, noticing the distinct way he cocked his eyebrow. She held back a moan, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.

"Something like that," she smiled. "But, you really saved me there. So thanks."

"Not a problem, love," he spoke, using the endearment for a second time. Emma didn't know what to say, how to react, and worried that the tension would dissipate into awkwardness. Luckily, he was much more prepared than her when it came to conversation.

"So, you enjoyed the show then?" he asked, leaning against one of the counters. Emma snorted, both consumed by the absolute sexiness of such an innocent movement, the sheer absurdity of how handsome he looked, and also the hilarity of the question which had been asked as though there was more than one possible answer.

"It was amazing, but you don't need to hear that from me," she replied, gaining back her footing and choosing to lean against a counter herself. His eyes glazed over as they beheld her figure, and she felt a pang of pride realizing that she wasn't the only one feeling at a disadvantage. "You can just read the reviews in the Times, on Playbill. Any publication really," she shrugged, deliberately choosing not to mention Red Apple. He waived his hand with a smirk, though his cheeks were a little pink from the compliment.

"Those are just words on paper. It's much better to hear it from the audience, from people I'm actually trying to impress. So did I?"

"Did you what?" Emma asked, crossing her legs. He mirrored her motions with another flick of the eyebrow.

" _Impress you."_

Emma let out another snort, rolling her eyes. "Of course. You all did. Dorothy obviously killed it, but I don't think I've ever seen a version of _the show_ like this," she replied. He chuckled at the fact that she knew better than to say "Macbeth" in the theater, but carried on with the conversation.

"How so?" he asked, and while Emma almost blew off the question, she realized from the sincerity in his voice that her opinion actually interested him. She shrugged, shaking back her hair (which earned her a quiet gasp from the god in front of her) and explained.

"Well, a lot of times, Shakespeare's works are dressed up in too much pageantry. It ruins the entire show. The power of the plays come from the dialogue. The wordplay, the puns, the sonnets, the format… if you dress it up too much you end up hiding what makes it great in the first place. So this was kept simple, but there were still creative embellishments. I don't think I've ever seen it performed so desperately. It was gritty. And _sexy,"_ she added the last word with a little burst of confidence, glancing at him through hooded eyes.

"Oh, I see," he grinned, leaning forward, the unbuttoned portion of his shirt traveling even further down his chest. " _You_ think I'm _sexy._ "

Even though desire pooled between Emma's thighs and heaved in her breasts, she felt inclined to argue.

"I said the _show_ was sexy," she corrected. He stood up now, hands in his pockets.

"It means the same. Is that why you returned? Specifically to torment me in the audience?"

This statement genuinely took Emma by surprise, and it was without any ulterior motives of flirtation or seduction that she let out a rather unsexy " _What?"_

Killian was unfazed, and he began to walk towards her.

"I think that you and I both know very well that your presence in the audience last night was an extremely prominent distraction. It was beyond unfair. For someone who is so clearly knowledgeable about theatre, you should know better."

The mood in the room shifted, the walls seemingly caving in to make the area smaller, warmer. More _intimate._ Emma's breath hitched, and he paused in the middle of the room, just to look at her. Study her. He showed the ghost of a satisfied smile when Emma bit her lip, his eyes dancing in victory.

"It's not like I was using my phone," she said lamely. He continued his slow pace towards her- a prowl, almost- and Emma, heart racing, was silently wishing he would just _hurry up._ But her tormenter kept his movements slow, drawn out.

"No. But you were _smiling_. A _stunning, ethereal, angelic_ beauty such as yourself-" (Emma shivered at this) "-is far more distracting than one hundred ringing cell phones. My director… well. He was not very pleased."

She blushed. "I didn't _force_ you to wink at me."

"I'm glad I made a lasting impression, though. Perhaps my suffering was worth it."

He stopped right in front of her, arms crossed in front of his torso, showing off the muscles she'd had the privilege of seeing when his shirt was removed onstage. But now that she was near him, within touching distance- she wanted to view them up close, feel them, rake her nails over every inch of his-

"It wasn't very professional," Emma pointed out, trying to even the playing field. But she couldn't hold back from what she actually wanted to say. "I have to admit though. Tonight… _wow_. You made up for it. You were different. Not to say that last night you weren't great, but today… I don't know. Something changed. Something…"

He looked at her so intensely chills traveled up and down her spine. She looked at where he had planted his feet. Not too close, just close enough that if she stood up and took a step forward she could grab the lapels of his shirt and-

And then her mouth moved and her brain and jaw and vocal chords betrayed every cell of her aching, wanting body.

"I have to go," she spoke quietly, as though if she spoke any louder the utter bullshit of her words would be impossible to conceal. "Thanks for… saving me."

Holding her breath, she picked up her bag and made five steps towards the door. But then…

"Well, perhaps gratitude is in order now," he called from behind her. And against all better judgement, Emma turned around, watching a smirk take over his angular face, his fingers brushing over those pink lips…

"Yeah," she said, a smile now threatening to pull at the corners of her own mouth. "That's what the thank you was for."

"Mmm. Is that what your job and integrity is worth to you?" he grinned, beginning to step towards her again. This time he didn't stop short, this time he planted his feet right in front of her, like a challenge. She could feel his breath, warm and spicy, dancing across her skin. She could feel the heat radiating from the both of them. She knew she really should just walk away…

"Please," she whispered. "You couldn't handle it."

He leaned in, like he was about to tell her a secret, throaty and dark and hot…

"Perhaps… _you're_ the one who couldn't handle it," he replied, placing an emphasis on the T, and it was both game over and game on at the same time.

Emma grabbed the lapels that had previously taunted her and pulled, slamming her lips against his. He initially stiffened from genuine surprise, but quickly regained his footing. He reached behind her to hold the back of her head with his hand, his fingers experimentally combing through her hair. Her moan earned her a small tug and a throaty chuckle, but before she could give him something to _really_ laugh about, he captured her lower lip between his teeth and, after a quick nip, his tongue soothed the pinkness before slipping into her eager mouth where they began the battle for dominance.

He walked her backwards until Emma was sitting on the counter, spreading her legs for him and wrapping her calves around his hips. God, it was _so wrong,_ and _so, so good._ The lights behind her shone onto his figure, both of them literally basking in the warmth and glow.

Emma jutted her hips out against a growing bulge in her tormentor's jeans, and she moaned thinking of those tight pants he'd worn on stage, how revealing they'd been. The memories caused her to absentmindedly grind against him harder as she got to enjoy _feeling_ his length rather than just gazing upon it.

Testing the waters, he grazed his hand over Emma's shoulder, brushing where the strap of her dress met the softness of her skin. She'd pulled out a pink number from her bail bonds person days, thankful that Ruby, who had outfits ten times more revealing than this ensemble, hadn't noticed anything suspicious. She was also thankful that he didn't need more prodding than a whimpered "yes" to pull down the strap, revealing only more of her collarbone, but clearly satisfying him for the time being. He turned his attention there, kissing and nipping at the newly revealed skin.

"Killian…" Emma moaned, her hips bucking up, mourning the friction lost after he'd changed positions. She felt a sultry grin against her breast.

"Ahh, so you know my name," he chuckled, equally amused and delighted. "Will I get to find out yours?"

The question, even though it was asked during a passionate make out session with a stranger who should _probably definitely_ know her name- Emma moaned thinking about what it would sound like, him saying it, calling out her name in ecstasy- her walls jutted up, and instead of granting him that information, she pulled down her sleeves so her chest was able to half escape the confines of the dress.

Deciding that wasn't enough, Killian's lips returned to hers and as they kissed, he unzipped the back of the garment, allowing the front to fall open and free both of Emma's heaving breasts, her erect nipples tensing even more when exposed. She grabbed him by his thick mane and pulled him from her lips, pushing him instead down to her wanting chest.

Killian got to work, kissing around her pink nipples so only his stubble grazed and teased them. His right hand worked at the breast his lips weren't currently busy with, his other arm was wrapped around Emma's waist, steadying her, and did she ever need steadying.

Even though his tongue was working wonders that only god could fully comprehend, Emma still wanted- _needed-_ more. With one leg stretching out to reach for his hips, she managed to undo two buttons on his shirt before a swift bite to her left nipple distracted her.

"I need…oh god… _touch me_!" she sputtered out, bracing her hands on the back of his neck. Killian, who Emma had already guessed was a stubborn man, decided alternatively to abandon his current activity and lifted his head to kiss her lips, deep and passionate. Emma shouldn't have had any complaints, her heart raced with adrenaline, knowing she could literally do this for _hours_ , but she was not one to beg and did not want to be reduced to that kind of behavior.

"Say please, darling," Killian muttered into their kiss, chuckling as Emma's legs reached back to capture his hips, holding him in place.

"Please!" she panted as his hands wandered to her ass, gripping her sensitive flesh over her dress which was beginning to ride up, revealing a flash of her lacy pink panties.

"Please what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Emma, choosing not to play games, removed one of his hands from her bum and placed it up the skirt of her dress with an exasperated huff. Killian let out a deep, earnest laugh, but didn't argue. He muttered an "as you wish" and began to follow her lead, rubbing her mound through her panties with an accomplished grin.

"My god you're soaked!" he exclaimed as Emma kissed the available portion of his chest, moaning some semblance of approval into his skin. He didn't waste any time, pushing the lacy fabric off to the side and delving two fingers into Emma's slick entrance. "Were you thinking of this when you were in the audience, naughty girl?" he asked with a wicked smile. "My fingers inside you? Touching you in all the right places? Making you cry out in ecstasy, hmm?" Emma would have nodded a yes, but his fingers had so quickly found the spot that made her squirm, she could only let out a small wail as he chuckled. "So wet for me. Thinking all those filthy thoughts, wanting me to bring you up on stage and satisfy you then and there. Is that what you want?" he interrogated again, picking up an unforgiving pace. Emma managed to shake her head up and down and leaned back against the mirror with a pant. Her new position opened a window of opportunity for him, and Killian made haste in kissing her neck, using his free hand to massage her breast.

With great skill and speed he began inching Emma towards orgasm, keeping her right on the edge of release. His thumb was dancing feather light circles around her clit, and every time she pushed her hips up she was punished with him receding, going slower, torturing her with less as her body pleaded for more. Emma was crying out in earnest when he started to speak.

"Tell you what, _temptress_ ," Killian whispered, low and gruff, before nipping at her earlobe earning yet another satisfied moan from Emma, who was desperately clinging to his shirt. "How about… I let you come… if you let me take you… to dinner."

The offer shocked Emma enough to make her flinch, but then his thumb pressed harder against her clit, the quick, light flicks turning into slower, more torturous movements. All of her nerves were on end, she _needed_ to come.

"Please," she gasped, and she felt his smirk against her neck, framed by the stubble tickling her skin.

"I know, I know," he answered with a dark chuckle. "Oh, I know, love. But I need you to agree, you see. Give and take."

He moved his hand a bit to the side so he could grind his hips against her aching cunt, and Emma didn't know how his pants hadn't broken by now- his bulge was so hard and filling up his jeans so nicely and he bucked against her again and his finger flicked her clit and-

"Yes, okay, dammit, just please!" she cried, pulling at his shirt so hard the rest of his buttons came clattering to the floor. Neither of them seemed to care, Emma was too wound up and Killian was too pleasantly surprised that she'd actually said yes.

"Really?" he asked against her collarbone, his smile rubbing his stubble over her sensitive flesh.

"Yes!" Emma gasped.

Killian's hand stilled, and he pulled away from her neck.

Emma looked at him with shock. He leaned in to kiss her lips once more- it was gentler this time, and Emma did kiss him back, but she was confused. She gasped in offense when Killian withdrew his fingers entirely, instead reaching back to zip her dress up.

"What?" she questioned in a haze as he stepped back, his broken shirt hanging open, framing his abdomen.

"Well, we made a deal. You would go out with me..." he smirked as her face fell, "and only then will I…" he lingered over the word as he brushed his lips over her pink cheek, "make you come," he finished the sentence as a whisper in her ear, their secret. Emma shuddered. "Multiple times," he continued, pulling back, admiring her sweaty, flushed form, tucking a strand of wild golden hair behind her ear. "All night if you like. But if you think for a moment I'm giving up my only leverage, you're terribly mistaken."

"You think I'll run?" she asked, cognizant once more.

"Oh yes, I do," he replied gravely. "I imagine it might even be a habit of yours, love, the way you left so quickly last night almost guarantees it. But we can talk about all of our terrifying trust issues over sushi. Or maybe thai?"

Emma was gobsmacked, jaw dropping to the floor.

"Don't look too surprised, love. You're something of an open book," he grinned, as though his ability to somehow see through her walls was a casual circumstance. "I will of course have to change into a shirt now that this one was so properly destroyed," he mused, opening a door to reveal a walk in closet. He spoke from inside, his voice slightly muffled. "I think I have a shirt back here somewhere… are you a fan of Armenian cuisine? Because a place just opened up and I've been dying to-"

Emma never got to find out what was so enticing about Armenian food because before she knew it her feet were moving out the door and into the hallway where she began to run and run, leading herself to a bathroom. One with a barred skylight over a toilet.

Just like in her high school days, days of constant running, constant heartbreak, constant regret and pain and loss, she untwisted the screws until she was on the roof, stranded, with nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing to prove.

Just how she liked it.

She stayed there, sitting, looking at the city around her, until she was sure he would be gone.

After a while, Emma went downstairs, strutted right past the confused employees wondering how they'd missed her in their final sweeps, and hailed herself a cab. All while promising herself that she would never, ever, think or ask of her Macbeth, ever again.

* * *

The weekend passed and Monday came. After a huge cinnamon latte and fighting for a cab since her bug was in the shop, Emma took the lift up to work where she was met by Regina Mills standing in front of the elevator.

"Miss Swan. My office."

"How did you even know I was…" Emma started, but but it was no use. Regina was strutting away, heels clicking on the hardwood floors.

She sighed, but still followed. They entered one of the empty offices and Emma took a seat while Regina chose to stand.

"Miss Lucas had a very interesting job interview, and an even more interesting story that came with how in the hell she nabbed a one on one tell-all sit-down with Dorothy Gale."

Emma looked down to the ground, her fists clenching at her sides. She had rarely interacted with Regina while at work, and being reprimanded by her co-parent was not something she was enjoying.

"My out-of-work friends have nothing to do with Red Apple," she said plainly. "You can be mad at me, but don't kick Ruby out of the running for it, she wrote up a fantastic piece and-"

"Oh, Miss Lucas is hired. Her article is running this week. It was fantastic. And one of the theater journalists is moving to take your spot in film."

Emma stood up, eyes blazing with rage.

"Regina, do not _punish_ me for having a life outside of work!" she demanded. Regina looked on, unfazed, the only emotion showing behind her eyes was a slight amusement.

"You aren't getting fired, Miss Swan. Surely you know why I called you in here?" she asked, eyebrows raised. Emma slowly sat back in the chair, but still wasn't about to let her guard down. "As much as I am furious that you knew Dorothy Gale all this time and didn't get me a piece with her earlier… Miss Lucas' work was brilliant, and Red Apple has an exclusive that will turn the small world of theater on its head. You however, were the one who was able to sweet-talk Miss Gale into talking herself, and that merits reward. You've proven yourself a great interviewer for our publication. But Red Apple is growing, and now it's time to take those skills and establish them for live, in person interviews."

Emma's jaw dropped, her hands fluttered to her face to try and hide her absolute shock, but her wide eyes said it all.

"Do… do you mean…?"

"Well, this certainly isn't _my_ new office," Regina mused, petting the desk in the center of the room before looking up to meet eyes with Emma. "Congratulations, Miss Swan. You are now the official red carpet interviewer for Red Apple Magazine."

* * *

Emma celebrated an entire year of the best job in the world almost to the day when she was sent to the premier of Jefferson Hatter's latest thriller. Wearing her hair tied back and a light pink dress that wouldn't upstage all of the celebrities, she went through her list of interviewees as Ariel worked on her makeup.

"We could let this down, do some curls," the bubbly redhead suggested, tugging at Emma's ponytail.

"Ariel, if you actually put effort into my hair, I have no doubt it would be the most gorgeous set of curls in New York. But because we don't want to upset the actresses who fully expected a star to be on the cover of Red Apple and not me, we better keep it simple."

Ariel nodded with a giggle, mumbling sing songy plans under her breath to make up for Emma's lackluster locks with some stellar eyeshadow.

Emma looked over the list of interviewees. There was Ashley Boyd, who used to be a Disney starlet until she got pregnant at nineteen and they threw her off her own show. She was a tough girl though, and she'd proven her talent by working indie films and off broadway until her big break- a cover story with Red Apple Magazine. It had been Emma's idea, and it was with great pride that the scared yet stubborn girl she'd interviewed years before had managed to nab the title role in Cinderella, coming to broadway soon.

Zelena Green was next on the list- she was famous for playing villains, and having met her a few times in person Emma knew exactly why. There were a few other up and comers: Aurora Dormir had found her niche in fantasy films, and August Booth was rumored to be the next Bond. But Emma was extra excited when she read that she was going to get to interview Robin Lockley, who was a critically acclaimed director.

"Ariel, what has Lockley been working on?" Emma questioned, knowing fully well that Ariel had the best gossip in the entire land, and probably also the sea.

"Ooh! He and Mulan Hua directed the newest Macbeth adaptation!" she squealed. Emma rolled her eyes.

"Didn't one come out like, two years ago?" she asked. "Is Lockley seriously getting to be that unimaginative? How did Mulan Hua make her way into that mess, she could be doing anything she wants."

Ariel shook her head with wide eyes.

"You don't understand. That other thing was a made-for-TV movie, and this is different. It's coming out next summer, so like, six or seven months. But there's Oscar buzz all over it- especially for the main guy. I forget his name, he's a newcomer. But all the insiders are going nuts for it!"

Emma shrugged.

"I haven't been keeping up with that stuff, I guess. I research who I'm interviewing, but Robin's name was a late addition. Henry has been keeping me really busy," she reasoned, starting to feel a little guilty for being so harsh.

"I can babysit whenever you need me to!" Ariel volunteered. Emma smiled, knowing fully well that she would never ask Ariel to watch her kid. Henry liked video games and race cars. Ariel was amused by forks and talked like at any given moment she was about to lose her voice for the rest of her life.

The interviews started popping up. Ashley greeted Emma with a hug and begged her to cover the opening of Cinderella, to which Emma happily obliged. Zelena scared the hell out of the entire camera crew which was normal. Aurora must have had twenty cups of coffee to stay awake because her eyes were bloodshot but she was even more giddy than Ariel. When Robin came up to her, Emma was pleased to see he had brought Mulan with him as well.

"Robin Lockley and Mulan Hua! How are you this evening?"

"Just wonderful, happy to support Jefferson!" Robin grinned.

"Even if he's as mad as a hatter," Mulan added, and they all laughed.

They chatted for a few minutes, Emma paying special attention to Mulan, as most interviewers seemed to favor the white guy by her side rather than take a female Chinese director seriously. It was a concern that had been brought up when Emma first interviewed Mulan for the magazine a few years ago, and their comradery had paid off for Red Apple.

"So, one last question- I know it won't make it to this year's Academy Awards, but still, how are you two feeling about the Oscar buzz surrounding Macbeth?" Emma asked brightly. Both Robin and Mulan broke out into huge, prideful smiles.

"We had a miracle cast and crew, the best of the best. They really understood what our vision was, and it was a seamless production. All through the shoot we were asking each other, could it really be this easy? We thought we were missing something, we didn't think a shoot this smooth was possible, but it was," Mulan replied resolutely.

"And we couldn't have done it without our leading man- here he comes right now! Killian! Over here!"

Emma's heart dropped into her stomach, as did her jaw, and she could feel the color washing out of her face.

No. Oh no. Oh _no no no no_.

He was _there_. Her Macbeth, _Killian,_ was walking towards her with a happy smile, placing himself right in the middle of Robin and Mulan, who embraced him like family. She couldn't believe this was happening, let alone happening on _live tv._ She tried to piece herself back together, but she felt like her sanity was flaking away into fragments on the red carpet. Robin started talking, and Emma tried to hold onto his words, hoping they might bring some logic to this ridiculous situation she was in, anchor her to reality.

"This is Killian Jones, our Macbeth. I actually saw him one night at the Public when Macbeth was playing- actually it was a year ago today, if you can believe it! And he was simply phenomenal, so I asked for his agent-"

Trying to pay attention was no use, Emma zoned out completely. Instead, she was staring at her Macbeth, who was in turn staring at her. His eyes were still so deeply blue, the stubble that had grazed against her neck was still at the perfect length, his shirt still unbuttoned enough to reveal the chest hair she'd once destroyed a button-down to touch. She knew that her face was white with shock, and weakly hoped she'd remember to thank Ariel for putting an excess amount of blush on her cheeks. She felt absolute panic, and total rage that he was clearly feeling the opposite.

Killian Jones was smiling- no, _smirking,_ like it was his birthday and Christmas all at once, and he'd just won the lottery on top of it. The smugness was both sexy and infuriating, and even _more_ infuriating _because_ it was so sexy. And also because it had distracted Emma, who noticed a half second too late that Robin had finished talking, and she had no idea what he had said or what follow-up question to ask him. But, smooth and swift, Killian Jones leaned into the microphone.

"And it's a very funny coincidence we're all here tonight because _Emma Swan_ was helping interview my amazing costar, Dorothy Gale, the day Robin met me. So here we all are again, one year later."

"Yes," Emma said, managing a very weak smile, dizzy with the fact that he'd just said her name. "Here we are. Congratulations to all of you."

The three of them walked off to the next interviewer, but not before Killian could look at her square in the eye and _wink._

* * *

Back at work, Emma was stretched out on the couch, eating Granny's takeout with Ruby. She had managed to cut through her utter embarrassment and tell Ruby the truth about her history with Killian. The brunette gossip had been squeaking and squealing through the entire confession, though Emma hadn't allowed her to talk until she was done.

"I've met him a few times, he came over to dinner with me and Dorothy, they stayed in touch after the show. But I will never be able to look at him the same, oh my GOD, Emma, you're-"

Ruby was cut off when Regina entered the room. The queen eyed the area before setting her sights on Emma.

"Miss Swan? Follow me to your office."

Emma sighed, dragging her feet to her desk, sitting down with a grunt.

"What, Regina?" she asked, cradling her head in her hands. If her boss and co-parent had somehow used her contacts or spies or magic mirror to discover the history between her and Killian-

"You didn't get me an interview with Jones," Regina voiced accusingly.

Emma tilted her head in confusion. "I literally interviewed him last night at the premier."

Regina was already shaking her head before Emma had even finished her sentence. "I'm talking about when he was in Macbeth at the Public!"

Emma didn't even try to disguise her annoyance. "Okay, are you serious? That was a year ago, and you were hounding _Dorothy_ , not Killian Jones!"

"But look where he is now! Red Apple is always ahead of what's popular, Emma, and I'm sure you saw that show more than once to support Miss Gale. You have an eye for talent, you should have seen this coming- his rise to greatness- and gotten ahead of it! But I can't focus on what happened a year ago; I have to focus on this week. The man is a novice, bless the theater geeks that jump in front of a camera, entirely unprepared for the thousands of flashing ones that follow. He was jumpy and ill at ease during every interview- except for ours. You struck gold, Emma! He's comfortable with you, which is why his agent agreed for you two to have a sit-down interview together for the magazine," she declared, and even though Emma knew very well that this was not phrased in a way that invited debate, she argued against it anyhow.

"Regina, I'm red carpet. I don't do the magazine interviews anymore, can't Belle do it?"

Regina frowned, and her eyes narrowed like they did before telling Henry for the third time that it was time to turn off the Xbox.

"You will do it if I say you'll do it, and I say you'll do it, so you will. Now, will you?" she asked, though again, it really wasn't a question.

"I will," Emma grumbled, and those two words hit her in the stomach to the point of terror and _undeniable_ thrill.

* * *

Emma waited in the Red Apple lounge, trying to convince herself that it would all be okay. She tugged nervously at the sleeve of her red jacket, hoping she looked alright after getting absolutely no sleep the night before. Embarrassingly enough she'd asked Ariel for help, and the redhead had been more than happy to assist with makeup and hair for the occasion.

Still, even with all the effort it took to prepare, when Killian Jones entered the room with his agent all Emma wanted was for the entire thing to be over. The tension that hung between the two of them, so distinct and strong it could be cut with a knife, had appeared out of nowhere again, and Emma literally went to turn up the AC- _in October_ \- to counteract the sudden heat while Killian was adjusting himself on the couch and bidding farewell to his agent. Once Nemo Nautilis left, Emma was able to slink back into the couch with a sigh and Killian was able to smile oh-so-sinfully at her.

"Hello, Swan. Long time no see- which is tragic, really," he remarked, reaching out his hand for her to shake. She ignored it, but he seemed unbothered.

"Yeah," she replied lamely. "Let's start with some questions."

"I think that's a brilliant idea," he replied, and Emma gave a quick sigh of relief. But before she could even glance at her list, Killian spoke up. "Why did you run?"

Emma's head snapped up from her notebook, cheeks becoming red. "What?" she sputtered, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Why didn't you have dinner with me?"

Emma looked at her feet, completely taken aback. She stared hard at the designs woven in the carpet, hoping that her gaze would be able to drill a hole through them and then to the other side of the world. Australia was apparently warm this time of year. Sunny instead of cloudy and cold and awkward.

"That's not how this works," she replied, managing to calm herself. "I ask the questions."

"I thought Red Apple was more about 'enlightened conversation' than point blank questions," he argued, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "So enlighten me."

Emma rolled her eyes. Clearly he had been speaking with Regina. "Look," she tried to reason with him. "That never should have happened. I left because it was awkward and-"

"You weren't feeling awkward," he interrupted.

"What?" she asked again.

"I'm just saying that you weren't feeling awkward. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Emma uncrossed her legs, eyebrows turned down angrily. "Look, if you're just here in an attempt to seduce me-"

"I'm not here to seduce anyone," he argued, dropping all joking demeanor and becoming serious. "I'm here for an interview, Emma. And when the interview is over I will offer to take you to dinner. And you will decline. But I will be patient, because I've been patient for over a year now and whatever we become, it's up to you as much as it is me."

"Right," Emma scoffed. "As if someone like you-"

"Like what?" he queried, cocking an eyebrow.

"The dashing actor-"

"Dashing? You think I'm-"

"As if someone like _you_ ," Emma continued, cutting through his smirk and his gaze and his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, "would be waiting around for someone like _me_."

"Why do you sound so skeptical?" he asked with genuine confusion.

"You're a movie star. I'm an interviewer. I know your type."

"But that's where you've got it wrong," he said, waving his hand as though the clear the air between them. "I'm not a movie star. I'm a theater actor who fell down the rabbit hole, as it were. I've found joy in discovering film, your life is dedicated to that branch of art so you surely know what I'm talking about, but as for an ego, I don't think I have one. I don't think a man with an ego could admit that a year ago a blonde lass walked into a theater and got the best of him and the talent that he had and the work he'd put into his part. Of course it wasn't her fault, every time he was caught staring at her sea green eyes or her golden hair he was reminded of his own weakness. And angels, well, they can't be blamed for their perfection, can they?"

Emma stared at him in awe, silenced by the sincerity and poetry in his words. Her cheeks were undoubtedly pink, but she was trapped in his voice, too far gone to even care.

"I was convinced that I'd missed my chance when I darted out the stage door and couldn't find her anywhere, that perhaps we were just two ships passing in the night," he continued. "But then she came back, only to leave just as before. So no. I'm not any kind of type except hopefully yours. When I win your heart, Emma- and I _will_ win it- It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me. And trust me, love, when I say this- I'm in this for the long haul."

Emma was speechless. She stared at him, hoping that he would say something to break the spell, to make her dislike him and their entire situation again. But instead he just raised his eyebrows hopefully.

She sighed, and managed to glance at her notebook.

"Question one."

* * *

Their interview went viral. Every publication seemed to be picking up little quotes or asking permission to publish the piece in full. People Magazine was ready for Killian Jones to be one of their sexiest men of the year. Fan websites were popping up all over the internet, quoting Emma's words. He was the top searched actor on IMDb for an entire week running.

He posted a photo of the printed interview, thanking both Red Apple and Emma. The single mention gained her 9,500 followers on Twitter and 7,000 on Instagram.

Months passed and she didn't see him, but she didn't get to escape him either. He was busy working sure, but he tweeted at her throughout his days.

"Watched merrymanrobin get grilled last night by EmSwan, whose shoes were intact! Victory!" (February 3)

"Missing NY food. Can't wait to get some REAL pizza when I return. Care 2 join, EmSwan?" (April 16)

"Wonderful interview from RedApple on wage gap. littleredruby and emswan are brilliant journalists, proud to know them both." (May 11)

"**insert retweeted image from the Red Apple twitter page of Emma interviewing Jasmine Agrabah, captioned with a heart eyes emoji**" (May 20)

She also had been in charge of _four_ phone interviews with him. The first had been a normal half hour session, the second and third had trailed off into two hours of conversation and laughter, and the fourth one had lasted a whopping three and a half hours before Emma had checked the time to see the work day had ended.

She really liked him, and that made her _very_ nervous.

When it came time for the red carpet premier of Macbeth, Emma was so stressed out, she'd let Mary Margaret and Ruby be in charge of figuring out what she was going to wear. Henry had volunteered to look over the list of actors and actresses she was going to interview and helped brainstorm questions. His face lit up when he read Killian's name amongst the rest.

"You're going to talk to _Killian Jones_ again? Awesome, mom! He is so cool, he was on the Late Show last night and-"

"You were up late enough to watch the Late Show?" Emma asked, eyebrow raised.

"Ummm… I saw some clips online?" he tried weakly.

"Continue," Emma replied. "Though I don't believe you for a second."

Henry huffed. "It's not fair having a mom with a superpower!" he complained before moving on. "Anyway, he did some super awesome sword fighting. Uncle David taught me some moves in the park but Killian Jones is like a PIRATE!"

Emma knew that if her night was beginning with her own son idolizing the man she was working so hard to avoid, it was only going to go downhill from there. And she was right. While Mary Margaret had chosen a tasteful white dress with crocheted long sleeves and a flowy bottom with a high slit, Ruby had gone with a pair of sky high heels. Right as she stepped out of the cab- which had moved so slowly through the city she was late late late- one of her heels broke.

Mindlessly, she took a photo and tweeted about it, hoping her newfound followers might get a kick out of the situation and also tune in on their televisions. Maybe viewers watching her wobble on one foot would bring in high ratings.

She went through the celebrities, but was confused (and maybe a little disappointed) when Killian missed his slot. She was told that he was running a little late and would take the time _after_ his was supposed to be, but even when that slot rolled around he wasn't there. They were almost through the D list celebrities when Emma heard fans scream, alerting her to the fact that Killian Jones had finally arrived.

When he swaggered up to her, bright and confident, she decided she should take him down a peg.

"Killian Jones," she smiled, microphone in hand. "And is there a reason that the star of the movie is late for his own premier?"

But the question didn't cause his grin to falter. He leaned into the microphone with poise.

"Actually, love, I made a bit of a detour and stopped by a shoe store to alleviate your little problem," he replied, gesturing to a bag in his hand that Emma hadn't noticed. "Will you?" he asked, lifting it up to her. Emma reached out for it and held onto one of the handles as he pulled it open, taking out the small box inside. He unpackaged the contents as he spoke with self-assured ease.

"Theater fans will know that I got the role in this movie by playing Macbeth at the Public Theater, and my costar, the ever-talented Dorothy Gale, was secretly pregnant at the time. One morning her feet had swelled so much her shoes couldn't fit. I ran across the street and into the nearest drugstore, and they have these one-size-fits-all flat shoes. They fit in a purse, see? May I?" he asked, beginning to kneel to the ground.

Emma let out a hoarse laugh, and he took that as a yes. He began to remove her lopsided shoes with a smile, but no smile of his could match the one she was wearing. "The show went on as normal, and not even our director noticed the difference. Of course the costume manager was in a huff but he was sated with some croissants the next morning."

"And how was working with a film set and crew? Did you have that same camaraderie?"

"I must say, I will always love the theater," he replied fondly, getting back to his feet. "But that's not to say we weren't truly family on set. I wouldn't have survived without my trainer, Merida, and stuntman, Arthur. And the camera man, Smee, was a riot. We got to go sailing with each other on off days; it took him barely twenty minutes to learn how to sail my ship."

Ah, the pirate thing explained.

"You seem incredibly humble- most people wouldn't remember the names of the crew," Emma replied, genuinely impressed.

"I think that the issue is that many actors aren't asked about it," he shrugged. "Which is why Red Apple is so important and iconic. It is very easy to get caught up in the lights and the drama and the fame when that's all that's being advertised and scheduled for you. I don't want to buy into that. I want to sail and travel and tell stories. I hope I'm humble. I hope people know that for them to make art, they don't have to make appearances. I learned much of this from Dorothy, when she was pregnant she refused all but one interview, and as it turns out that interviewer is now her fianceé. She focused on her family. I don't have much of any family, but the people who help make theater and film, they're what I have that's close to it. I could never forget that this film was a team effort. But in a selfish way… I am certainly glad you don't see me as _most people,_ Emma _."_

Before she could respond, he was called to the next interviewer. He turned to her with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"You know, Swan, there's an excellent curry place nearby…" he said suggestively.

Emma shook her head in wonder, forced to admire his nerve.

"Congratulations on your film, Mr. Jones."

"Oh please- it's Killian," he laughed

And of course he made sure that he left her with a wink.

* * *

Regina was thrilled. Dorothy and Ruby were thrilled. The fans were thrilled. Everyone was thrilled.

The movie was immediately a smash success and it became a given that Killian Jones was an Oscar frontrunner. Regina was posting "IMPORTANT AND ICONIC" on every platform she could and immediately began planning a cover story about him- with directors Robin Lockley and Mulan Hua at his side. This was, after all, a magazine covering all artistic elements, not just the eye candy on top, though everyone knew that she considered the real eye candy to be Robin Locksley. It was the company's worst-kept secret that he was her celebrity crush, and she had been putting off meeting him for the pure sake protecting herself from possible embarrassment. Now, however, it was inevitable.

Ruby and Dorothy were also overjoyed. Dorothy couldn't stop reminding her that she thought from the start Emma and Killian would be a good match. Ruby was no help, she was even worse than her fianceé, grabbing Emma's phone and forcibly putting Killian into her contacts while chittering away. Emma was forced to listen, bouncing baby Luna on her knee and bracing for impact.

"When he was over for dinner last week, well, Dorothy let slip that you told us everything- _don't look at me like that,_ he was fine with it, Em, _gees!_ Anyway, we asked, did _he_ know _we_ knew you? Did he know who you were? And he had absolutely no idea that entire time- it was like a missing year, really! He said he never knew your name, which you'd already told me, you sly fox, but still- get this- he said 'I know how she kisses. Had I known her name, I'd have gone after her.' So adorable!"

Emma was less impressed with the gossip mill growing within the confines of her own family, but even she had to admit, the sentiment was sweet.

And she _was_ a damn good kisser. It was nice to be appreciated.

The fans were thrilled and growing in vast numbers. Emma's too- Killian had brought at least forty thousand new followers her way on every social media site after the red carpet incident. Instagram photos of Killian Jones placing shoes on her feet were numerous. Articles about how Killian Jones saved a reporter from broken heels went viral. Originally she was miffed that they had not called her by name, she was only referred to as "red carpet interviewer" or the less bland "reporter babe," but the next morning she woke up to find that every headline had corrected itself within twelve hours of publication. Searching for the cause, she saw that Killian Jones- whom she had yet to follow on any social media platform- had tweeted a dozen online papers asking them to refer to "a brilliant journalist by her name." Emma, alone in her bed, felt a deep blush creep over her from head to toe.

She rewarded him with a quick follow on twitter.

Three minutes later she had a notification from him.

" EmSwan has followed me on twitter! What should the two of us celebrate with?"

Underneath he wrote a poll for what kind of cuisine they should indulge in, should they ever go out to dinner.

French food won.

Emma ordered a pizza instead, and once it was delivered, she figured, what the hell, and snapped a photo, sending it to him.

" _I would have voted Italian_ ," it was captioned, with five pizza emojis next to it because she'd had some wine while she was waiting for her food to come.

It didn't even take twenty seconds for him to reply.

" _I'll keep that in mind_."

* * *

A long while passed before Emma heard that she would be interviewing him again. They hadn't been in contact recently, which made it even more exciting slash terrifying. Since she'd seen him last, Killian Jones had been announced to be attached to even more new projects, including playing Captain Hook in Disney's live action villain origin story film.

Belle had nabbed a quick phone interview with him about it for the magazine. Emma had been near by, and- thank god she didn't have to ask for it- Belle knowingly (with a smirk) put him on speaker.

"It's just about having fun. I love to sail, I live on my ship, I'm not a man who needs very much. It's so easy to take yourself too seriously, and Macbeth was a very stern project. It's thrilling to be able to work with some magic, some adventure, some mermaids, because why the bloody hell not!" he laughed, and Emma- who had migrated from a nearby couch to literally sitting on Belle's desk- could visualize the gleam in his eyes.

He made sure to end the interview by requesting Belle ask her if she was a vegetarian, since he found a new vegan restaurant in Queens.

"Well, Killian, I think you and I both know that she's been next to me listening to this entire conversation, so why don't you ask her yourself?"

Emma knocked the phone out of Belle's hand so hard that the battery fell out. Not before she could hear Killian's laugh on the other end.

Hey, at least the screen wasn't cracked.

Emma missed him, which was ridiculous. Sure, she'd gotten to know him well enough through work, but did she _actually_ know him? She was reminded of him every day, either by the legion of fans- half of them asking her when she was going to interview him next, the other half of them threatening to kill her for flirting with their future husband Killian Jones- or by the incessant texts and calls from Dorothy, Ruby, and Mary Margaret. Even Ariel mentioned him while touching up her makeup.

For the latest event- a charity gala- Emma made sure to pick out a dress that would turn heads. Normally she was supposed to blend in, lay low and let the celebrities shine, but for once she thought she should bend the rules. She picked a daring red dress- silk, with a plunging neck that went almost all the way down to her naval, framed by a gorgeous train down the back.

This was _not_ for Killian Jones. This was for her. It had nothing to do with the fact that the gossip magazines she scoffed at were reporting a budding romance between him and Aurora Dormir, nothing to do with the fact that every time they met they were surrounded by gorgeous celebrities with way more money and way less baggage.

What she forget in her haste to look nothing short of stunning was the fact that it was autumn in New York and the nights were getting chilly. She kept calm while interviewing, used to being cold and poor and without a good coat on the NYC streets, but it was still not very fun.

She couldn't deny the spread of warmth that flowed through her when she saw him approach, and the look on his face made it all entirely worth it.

"Swan… you look… _stunning,_ " Killian managed to say after picking his jaw up off the floor. Suddenly he shook his head, snapping out of his reverie. "But bloody _hell_ , you must be freezing!"

Before Emma could ask a single question he was taking off his plaid suit jacket.

"No, no, I'm okay, I'm okay!" Emma laughed, hiding her face with the microphone. The camera crew were also laughing as Killian helped Emma into the oversized sleeves.

"I am a _gentleman_ ," he argued, "and though normally your discomfort would be a cross I'm willing to bear, well, we all must make sacrifices."

"I'd hate to see you suffer in misery just to keep me warm," she replied, not even attempting to disguise her flirting.

"I think we both know there's more on the line than your warmth, love," he said with a trademark wink.

Emma rolled her eyes, but she was smiling bright. She started to ask questions about his own charitable contributions, various causes that were close to his heart, and the importance of art as a mechanism for activism.

But before she could wrap it up, Killian plucked the microphone from her hand and actually _began interviewing her._

"Miss Swan! Miss Swan!" he shouted. Emma had burst into a fit of giggles, and Killian was trying not to fall victim to her very contagious laughter. "Miss Swan, who are you wearing!"

Emma laughed, eyes watering. "We don't ask that at Red Apple!" she sputtered, trying not to cry off her mascara. "But I'm wearing _you!"_

"And Miss Swan, Miss Swan, please tell the fans at home- Are you in the mood for Korean barbecue? Because I do happen to know a place."

And Emma, who normally ignored all talk of food from Killian Jones, took a leap of faith.

"Actually, I'm more of an onion rings kind of girl."

* * *

Restaurants from all around Manhattan began inviting the two of them to a complimentary meal. Every joint in New York City wanted to be the place where Emma Swan actually wanted to eat.

It was now October first, and Cinderella was finally opening on Broadway. Emma was excited to be interviewing the theater community- it was so rare that she was on any job that didn't have something to do with film. She'd been thrilled to see Ashley at work, but found out via text that the young actress had a flu and would be out for the week, her understudy taking over the opening instead. Emma was disappointed, but a job was a job, so she packed herself into the car with Ariel and the camera crew and drove to the theater.

She wasn't even supposed to be interviewing Killian Jones for this gig, but she shouldn't have been surprised when he made an appearance anyway. She was mid-conversation with one of the show's choreographers when he briskly walked by, handing her a hot paper cup, shouting at her as he trotted away.

"Brilliant idea by the way, with the cinnamon? Makes the whole thing better, unbelievable!"

Apparently, Ruby had texted him Emma's hot beverage quirk.

When it was time to get to her seat, Emma wasn't startled to find Killian Jones in the spot right next to hers.

"Ah!" he said with a grin. "I was hoping it'd be you."

Emma raised a single eyebrow, stealing one of his signature moves. "Did you do this?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, I wish I had, that might have been more charming, but alas, it seems as though it's just fate."

They watched the show together, and although it was the first time Emma had ever seen the first act (when she snuck into the theater as a kid she always got in during intermission) she couldn't concentrate on the show at all. The tension was hanging in the air again, and she wondered if the entire theater felt it. Every time she heard someone shift or a playbill rustle she wondered if it was the two of them, their fault.

She became hyper aware of Killian's breathing, the evenness of his inhales and exhales giving his true emotions away. No one's breath was that controlled unless they were feeling out of control. And neither of them could control whatever it was that was going on between them.

Intermission arrived and she followed him to the bar, where two drinks were reserved under his name. He handed one to her with a knowing look.

"Thought you might need this," he quipped. They clinked their glasses and gulped the liquid down, feeling better and looser with some liquid courage in their stomachs.

"You seemed rather distracted," he pointed out, making Emma roll her eyes.

"Oh yeah? How do you figure?" she asked. He pointed to the skirt of her dress.

"You were ripping apart your playbill into little tiny pieces and there's still some fragments caught on your dress- allow me," he said, kneeling down to dust the papers off of Emma, who was snorting with laughter. They kept chatting and teasing each other, and by the time Killian had removed the last scrap of playbill, an usher came up to them both, and they realized they were alone in the lobby.

"Sir, ma'am, the doors are just about to close for act two, you better come inside," she said.

Emma looked at Killian.

Killian looked at Emma.

"Sir… ma'am?" the usher stuttered, unsure what to do. Killian broke the silence, awkwardly shifting his weight to one foot.

"You're not moving," he spoke quietly.

Emma crossed her arms. "You're not either."

The alcohol was supplying her with the strength she needed, and though for a moment she did consider the fact that leaving would be viewed as rude, she figured that Ashley was the only reason she was there in the first place, and so she made her way to exit the theater, looking back at Killian over her shoulder.

"You coming?"

* * *

The two of them purchased more cinnamon hot chocolate as well as honey roasted peanuts, which apparently were Killian's favorite. He offered to buy her onion rings, but she declined, telling him he wasn't that hungry. In truth, she'd kill for onion rings if she was with any other person. But with him, onion rings were too close to a meal, and a meal meant that it was a date, and a date meant that it was real and happening and Emma knew she couldn't handle that.

So instead they walked aimlessly through the streets for for hours, getting away from Times Square and chatting about nothing and everything.

"My brother is back in England, and he really has no idea what all the fuss is about of course, me being the little brother," Killian laughed. "Since he raised me, I think he'll always see me as the dorky theater geek."

"I'm sure that's not true," Emma argued, popping a peanut into her mouth. "I'm sure he's really proud. He's got to be."

'Not entirely true, I suppose. You're right- he is bloody proud of me, even though to him I'm just in front of a camera with makeup on my face, saying words somebody else wrote," Killian chuckled, but the way he said it, with his chest puffed out a bit, made Emma understand that his brother's approval meant the world to him.

"I have my son, Henry- big fan of yours by the way, stays up late and sneaks into theaters to watch films too violent for 12-year-olds," she said. Killian beamed and wiggled his eyebrows at the last bit, making Emma grin before continuing. "Besides that, I never had a family. I was a foster kid, just mulling around New England. New York obviously was my favorite, and it stuck."

She didn't know why she said it, unprompted and of her free will. She'd known David and Mary Margaret for years and it had taken an aching amount of time for Emma to even divulge the tiniest of details, only leaving them, her new family, with micro-fragments of information that they had to piece together over time. But with Killian Jones, for some reason she was just… talking about it.

And then his arm was linked with hers, and she didn't pull away.

"This doesn't count as dinner by the way. What do you think of… Tex-Mex?"

Emma laughed, but she wasn't totally oblivious. He was giving her an exit from the conversation. It was a kind gesture, letting her know that she didn't have to keep going down this path, that she had an out. But for some reason she didn't want to take it.

"Sorry for rambling," she said, bashful. "I don't want to bore you with some sob story."

Killian shook his head, looking at her with those earnest blue eyes.

"Please don't say that, Swan. I would love hear more about your beginnings."

And so she shared. They passed by the community theater where she worked in high school. She told him about all her adventures, ditching class and sneaking into shows.

"I ran around all of New York. I would go second acting- you know, sneaking into the show for the second act- and even though I was just a kid, I was _good_ at it."

"I did the same thing as a child!" he gasped with excitement. "But you know, on the West End. The key was to pick someone in a long coat-"

"-and hold the hem so they don't feel it but-"

"-the usher thinks you're related" they said at the same time, before once again dissolving into laughter.

"You've got a little pirate in you, Swan!" Killian exclaimed, once he was able to catch his breath.

"I do!" she giggled. "I used to… what would you call it? Buckle some swash?"

Killian rolled his eyes at this, but with his arm interlocked with hers, opening up more of her past than she'd ever done before, Emma didn't hesitate to say the next sentence.

"Henry's dad… well. He liked me because I was… well, I guess, a criminal. I did it to survive, stay sane, but still. He was rich and important and older; I was young and stupid and exciting. He loved sneaking into theaters with me- made him feel alive. He stole for fun, and I did it out of necessity. I was too young to realize the difference, and how important that difference was. And eventually, he screwed me over. Sometimes I still feel like he took something from me. You know? Something that… that I won't ever get back."

Killian held onto her a little tighter, their frames side by side, feet in step with each other. He pondered this statement for a moment before responding to it.

"I don't mean to invalidate your feelings Swan, but I disagree. You are… a whole, strong, intelligent person. And just because there are parts of our past that aren't easy or good, doesn't mean that it takes away from who you are. And you know what, Emma?"

"What?" she spoke. Quiet. Scared. Vulnerable. Holding her breath until she was able to look him in the eyes.

"I'm a fan of every part of you."

He was able to hold her gaze for a moment before it became too much, too overwhelming, and she stared once more at the pavement. "Well. Henry came out of it. That was good. But his father still… you know. Broke my heart."

Killian suddenly stopped entirely, his expression pensive, almost hesitant. She looked at him, confused, until he worked out what it was he wanted to say.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad to hear that."

Emma scoffed, raising her eyebrows in disbelief. "You're glad I had my heart broken?"

Killian was unbothered by this reaction; in fact, he almost drew more strength from it. He stood a little straighter, with more self assurance.

"If it can be broken... means it still works."

Emma couldn't hold back the tiny gasp that caught in her throat; the walk, the confessions, the closeness, all of it suddenly became too much for her.

The ridiculous thing was, she didn't even need to tell him. He stepped towards the street himself and hailed her a taxi, helping her into the car and handing the driver a twenty before shutting the door with a wink. She drove away, startled at the fact that divulging so much had been so easy, and that they'd been walking for three hours and it'd felt like minutes.

* * *

The next morning a photo of her, actually looking happy and pretty and radiant with honey roasted peanuts, was posted on his instagram. There was no caption, but no need for one. A picture, it seemed, really could speak a thousand words.

A month had passed since she'd seen him, and Emma grew restless and bored with every assignment that lacked a certain flirtatious winking movie star. She had been waiting for his name to pop up for interviews, red carpets, _anything,_ but he apparently had been busy filming and working and getting interviewed by other reporters who might actually take him up on his offer for dinner. They'd been texting- and even talking on the phone- almost every night, but it wasn't enough, not even close.

She'd been zoning out on a morning meeting when she swore she heard his name, and like getting shaken out of a dream, she perked up.

"Wait, what?" she said, interrupting Regina mid sentence in front of the entire staff, who were all trying to muffle their laughter.

"Nothing to do with you, Miss Swan. Miss French is interviewing Killian Jones for an article, and the coffee machine is over there. I suggest you get some."

Again, the staff chuckled, but Emma didn't care.

"No, I'm awake. And I'll do it," she said, confidently.

Silence fell over the crowd, her coworkers seeming equally shocked that she had actually publicly admitted to wanting Killian's piece _and_ having the gall to go against Regina's wishes. Regina cleared her throat.

"Emma," she spoke, stretching out both of the syllables in her name- her _first name_ , which meant she was absolutely in hot water. "This piece belongs to Miss French. You can't just take away an opportunity like that, and you do not cover publication interviews anymore. Remember that promotion? New office? Any of it ringing a-"

"I'll let her have it," Belle shrugged. "Besides," she smirked, leaning back into her chair and glancing towards the rest of the room. "I think we all want to know what's going to happen here."

Emma rolled her eyes, but it was with a skip in her step that she ditched the rest of the meeting, instead locking herself up in her office to email Killian's manager and ask where and when they should meet.

She wasn't surprised when it was him _who_ replied, with only one sentence.

"Monday. 8PM. Where it all began."

* * *

Mondays were blackout days at the Public Theater, and theaters all across New York shared the pattern, going dark after their Sunday Matinee.

While everyone else in the universe hated Mondays because they marked a return to work or school after the weekend, Emma could never stand them because there was almost never a show she could sneak into while ditching school.

And Mondays were the days she needed them most. The weekends meant she was stuck with abusive foster parents or houses full of kids fighting and stealing her things, or even worse- social workers coming with glowing eyes and teddy bears to tell a kid that they were going to be adopted. This happened often, children came in and out, accepted into loving families with open arms. Everyone, it seemed, except for Emma. Mondays were when she needed a break from those moments, when she _needed_ a show, but most of them she spent wandering the streets, cold and lonely.

Even though the theater was technically closed, Emma wasn't surprised to find the back door unlocked. She hadn't even tried the front, knowing that this was where he wanted her to be.

She wandered through the dark halls, passing by Dorothy's old dressing room, where Emma had introduced her to Ruby. Her fingers grazed the familiar walls, the bones of the building that had given her so much joy when she was younger, so much peace. Now when she walked through, _he_ was always in the back of her mind. Scaring her, with the possibility of a future. A happy one.

She entered his old dressing room, now decorated by some other actor's knick knacks, but tidy from the Monday cleanings. She couldn't help but smile as she glanced at the counter where they'd kissed, where they'd done so much but so little. Did she want to go down that path? Would it end like it always did, in tears? In ruin? Or would she get what she'd previously thought was impossible- a happy ending?

She heard him approach, and turned around to find him leaning against the doorframe, pensive. There was still a smile playing at his lips, as though he couldn't help but form the expression when he saw her. They way he looked at her, god. It was with such reverence and appreciation, such admiration and respect and even maybe… well.

"Killian," she breathed, fighting her entire being, every instinct she had telling her to run.

"Swan," he replied, his smile growing. "You came."

She nodded, her eyes glancing around the room, too nervous to meet those ocean blue eyes of his.

"Lots of memories, hmm?" he asked, his hand running over the counter fondly. "When I first came here I was so naive, just starting out. I didn't think that it would set me on this path. Sometimes I wonder if it was all some sort of destiny. I joked about it when we were seated next to each other during Cinderella, but sometimes… sometimes I'm not so sure it's a joke," he mused.

"What do you think about it? About fate?" she asked, leaning against the familiar counter.

"I think that we've both had bad things happen to us. Things that were heartbreaking. I was married once you know. To a woman named Milah. I was young, but I loved her… very much. And then she died, and I… well. I fell into despair, really."

Emma reached out a hand to him, longing to comfort him, but she receded, scared to physically connect with him while her heart was feeling this vulnerable. She didn't know if she'd be able to take it. It was already so much.

"That's the reason I moved here, to the States," he admitted with a sad smile. "I spent two years drinking in London, trying to drown the pain with rum. But one day I just thought, maybe there's something for me in New York. And it seems that all of the pain, all of the heartbreak, it led me here. And I can't help but wonder, is that not fate? Was I destined to show Milah what unconditional love was, before she was destined to pass? Was that part of my purpose? And now, what else could possibly be my purpose other than coming here and finding you?" he asked. Emma's heart leapt out of her chest.

"Killian-" she whispered, but he shook his head.

"Please, let me finish now, or I'm scared I'll never have the courage to do this again," he chuckled, though there was genuine fear behind his eyes. "I do not believe I deserve you, Emma. I know I don't. One day, I hope to be a great man, a hero even, who does. But it seems to me that greater powers have pushed us together, over and over, which I will be forever grateful for, no matter what. Do you know what day it is today?" he asked, peering up at her. Emma shook her head, too overcome with emotion to even speak the word no. "It's November fourth. It's the day we first met, two years ago. And also the day I found you again," he replied simply.

Emma inhaled sharply, incredibly moved by the fact that he'd remembered this date so vividly, that he had held it in such regard and esteem. And Emma knew deep down, something truly did seem to be leading them to each other. She felt that pull, that connection, and just because it scared the hell out of her didn't mean that it wasn't there. The fact that he had planned this moment so they were together on this day once more, a day so important, almost sacred to them both (though only one of them had admitted to feeling that way) was easily one of the most caring things anyone had ever done for her.

She approached him, she didn't know why, but she had to touch him.

"I'm glad you found me," Emma spoke, quiet but genuine. Killian lifted his eyebrows in amazement, clearly not expecting her to say something like that.

"Yeah?" he asked with a nod, prompting her for more, but without any hint of aggression. He had never pushed her limits, he had never needed to. For Killian Jones, Emma's walls fell down naturally. She laughed at his surprise, reaching out to touch his cheek. His hand reached up to cup hers with an adoring smile.

"Of course," she replied. "Of course, Killian, of course."

Something in the air shifted again, and the tension that had always existed between them came back with a mighty vengeance, settling deep in Emma's belly and in Killian's eyes. Just like the first time she'd set foot in the room, the walls seemed to cave in, the air became warmer. Normally she would look at the floor, try to break free from his hold on her and her hold on him along with every emotion rushing through her veins, but this time, she couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze away from his. He could clearly feel it too. He let her hand go in a clear attempt to settle the sparks jumping between them, before he just _had_ to touch her again, his fingers lowering to slowly trace down her neck to her arms to her ribs in silent desperation, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"We should start the interview," she whispered, trying to ignore her desperation, the heave of her breasts as she took deep, calculated breaths, attempting to survive him and the things he did to her.

"I live… a few blocks down. We might want to talk over… coffee," he offered, for once lacking his usual confidence, fearful of her answer.

"Yes. Coffee. That sounds good."

Killian closed his eyes for a moment in relief that she'd said yes, and nodded before turning around to hold the door open for her with a smile.

They exited the theater and made it out to the busy street, walking side by side. They didn't talk, neither of them seemingly able to form words, both of them just trying to get to their destination as fast as they could.

Emma's mind was racing with thousands of thoughts and fears and wants and hopes, all of it jumbling together so quickly it became white noise. The one thought that prevailed over the background arose out of the electricity buzzing between her and Killian, energy that should logically have surged and corrupted the power lines for all of Manhattan but somehow didn't.

 _She needed to hold his hand._

She flexed her fingers, trying to shift them in the way she wanted, but terrified to make the move. He had just told her that he genuinely thought destiny brought them together, that he didn't even think _he of all people_ deserved her. Being scared to hold hands at this point was ridiculous, but it was just the way her walls worked, the rules they followed.

But he never seemed to follow rules, and with a leap of faith, Emma reached over and grabbed it, staring straight ahead, quickening her pace to an even more hurried stride.

He didn't look at her either, but in the chilly air, he gently squeezed her palm and lifted both of their hands, placing them deep in his coat pocket. The position had them walking closer together now, and Emma couldn't help but smile.

They reached Killian's apartment building. He told her that he had to give up living on his ship- The _Jolly Roger_ \- because the press had been climbing aboard his neighbors' boats on accident, and one paparazzo almost got shot by a man who called himself Bluebeard. Emma chuckled as they walked up the steps to his flat.

Killian unlocked the door and ushered her in before locking back up. The tension between them settled, and a certain calm washed over Emma as she inhaled the scent of the apartment. It was spicy like him- with the added aroma of candles and old books and sea salt. He had a few nautical embellishments around, his pirate style making her smile. She placed her bag on the couch, and while she considered getting out her notebook for the interview…. she didn't want to.

Killian strolled towards his kitchen, looking at her over his shoulder. "Do you want tea? Coffee? Cocoa? I do have some cinnamon…"

"Coffee is fine," she answered, leaning against the back of his antique, hideously floral sofa.

"Good," he replied, and she could hear him place all the ingredients in the machine, setting the timer before coming back to her. He leaned against the wall, watching her look around at his various decor.

"You have a lot of playbills," she commented, referencing a wall with at least a dozen hanging programs, all of them signed and framed.

"I have a whole book of them too- those are just my favorites," he replied. Emma made her way over to them to take a closer look. She smiled as she saw one for Macbeth, signed by the rest of his cast. They all wrote doting personalized messages for him. Dorothy had written "To my favorite husband: I regret to inform you that I am gay, but I will forever love you and respect you, and you must join me and my future wife for dinner one day." Emma chuckled, knowing fully well that while Dorothy had written it as a joke, it had been just weeks after she'd met Ruby. Deep down, she was probably hoping that it'd be her.

 _I was hoping it would be you._

Killian's words flashed back to her as she saw a Cinderella playbill, signed by Ashley Boyd herself.

"You went back?" Emma asked, pointing to the program. Killian nodded.

"I was rather upset that I wasn't getting to see her. Her understudy was fantastic and I have one signed by her as well, but I have a deep respect for Ashley. One that was founded on an article I read about her a long time ago in Red Apple, written up by a very talented interviewer," he grinned, nodding at Emma.

"You read that?" Emma gaped. Killian lifted a finger and walked over to his bookshelf, searching though a few items before finding what he was looking for.

He pulled out Ashley's issue of Red Apple, and Emma's hand flew up to her mouth in shock.

"This was from... three years ago? Before I was even living in the U.S. full time. I got this at a magazine stand in the underground before I caught my train. I remember admiring the courage of the woman on the cover, and the clear determination of the woman who wrote it. I've had it on my bookshelf ever since. It wasn't until I talked to Ashley that she told me it had been you. She said she wouldn't have been onstage that night, leading a Broadway show, if it hadn't been for you."

Emma stood in amazement at the coincidence- but no, it couldn't have been just a coincidence. This was so much more, it had always been so much more. He handed her the magazine, and she weighed it in her palms.

"Maybe you were right, when we saw Cinderella," Emma whispered, stroking the cover with her thumb. She took a few steps away, almost pacing, trying to organize her thoughts.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his volume matching hers. She looked up, reaching deep down for the strength she needed to tell him what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

"Maybe it _is_ fate, Killian. I didn't think I would ever see you again, but then a year to that day, you show up out of the blue. And then a year later we're here. And three years ago, even then, even when we had no idea, you were hearing me. Listening to me," she raised the magazine, trying not to get choked up. "I don't know. I just… feel this. I feel that I will find you, somehow, that I will _always_ find you. No matter what."

And then she couldn't help herself, tears welled up and spilled over, streaming down her face. She had never felt more naked, more vulnerable in her life. He bounded towards her, pulling her into his arms in an embrace, and for the little lost girl that still lived deep inside her heart- for the very first time in her life, she felt like she was home.

"I had no idea when I auditioned for this play, that when I got the part, that it would lead me to my happy ending," Killian replied, and when Emma pulled away she saw that he was smiling the most radiant smile she'd ever seen in all her years. She smiled back at him, quirking her head to the side.

"What's your happy ending?" she asked, but before he could answer, the timer for the coffee began to ring out. He took a step back and raised a finger with a grin.

"Just one moment, love," he said, disappearing into the kitchen. "Do you want any cream? Sugar?"

She swallowed, ignoring his question entirely, buying herself a few moments before she gained enough nerve to do this, to actually just do it. To jump in and damn the walls and the past and the consequences.

"Emma?" he asked, peering out from his kitchen with mugs in hand, concern painted on his face.

"I… I've changed my mind," she spoke, hands almost shaking at her sides. His eyes widened, and Killian set down the mugs on a bookshelf before taking a step towards her.

"Emma, I assure you, you are not here for any reason but the interview. I would never want you to do _anything_ that you don't want to-"

"I don't want coffee," she choked out, and after a split second of recognition flashing over his face, she was in his arms and they were kissing.

Emma didn't know if he had kissed him or if he had kissed her, but it didn't matter because after all this time of longing and desire and something else that was burning deep inside her, she was in his arms with his lips on hers, and for once everything was okay, everything was…

 _Perfect._

This kiss wasn't just fueled with the tension of two nights in the theater, but with a year of desire and tension and late night fantasies and lingering glances. Emma would be a fool if she thought it wasn't also a kiss of yearning and butterflies in her stomach and stolen moments and even romance. And Emma Swan was no fool. This kiss meant something.

She reached for his shirt- another button down, and, deciding to call back to that fateful day two years ago, she pulled it open, popping all the buttons off with a giggle. He laughed against her lips, laughter that turned to a moan as she ran her fingers down his sculpted torso, through his chest hair, tangled up with the silver chain he wore around his neck.

"Emma, love," he gasped, speaking against her lips, her neck, her shoulder… "You do realize… that if we're abiding with our original deal-" he interrupted himself with laughter as Emma stole his lips away from her neck, crashing them back to hers and sweeping her tongue against his lips. He rewarded her with a familiar nibble to her lower lip before continuing on. "If we're abiding with the rules of our original deal, you are going to have to go out to dinner with me, or this night will just end up being incredibly frustrating and disappointing for you."

Emma threw her head back in laughter, and he took the opportunity to suck on the skin above her pulse point, hands dipping down to firmly grip her ass. He scooped her up off the ground and into his arms as she squealed in delight, wrapping her legs around his torso and lifting her hands to cup his face.

"I know. You planning on disappointing me?"

The challenge of her words glinted in his eyes, and a smirk bloomed across his handsome face.

"Oh Swan. I don't intend on letting you down. Not _ever._ "

And then he was stepping into his bedroom, throwing her on the bed, and climbing over her form to kiss her senseless.

 _Perfect._

Everything was... _Perfect._

* * *

It was ten AM, and Emma was sitting alone in bed, staring out the window of Killian's apartment with a frown. He had gone to make breakfast- leaving her with a kiss and the promise of pancakes and cinnamon hot cocoa, brought to her in bed like she was some kind of princess.

She'd woken up before him, wrapped in his arms, her leg bent and tucked between his calves. They were tangled together in the white sheets of his bed, their bodies providing all the warmth they'd needed on a November night. Her eyes traced his figure observantly, curiously even. He was different when he was at rest. His face was relaxed, the scruff around jaw a little longer than usual, and she wondered how he would look after a shave. She'd fallen asleep nestled against his chest, and when she realized she could hear his heart- strong, steady- hers seemed to skip a beat.

Memories of their night raced through her mind, and Emma couldn't help but smile. The way he'd thrown her on the bed, covering every inch of her still-clothed body in a shower of kisses- he went from her arm to her stomach to her cheek in a whirl of joy, making Emma laugh and laugh until she couldn't breathe.

She'd _never_ had a partner like this, someone that made her ache and made her laugh and made her long for him and made her _happy._ One night stands were all about lust or alcohol, usually a combination of the two. But she'd been laughing, giddy almost, as she spent the night with the man she'd been lusting after for what seemed like an eternity. He did things to her, not just physically, but emotionally as well. No one had ever done that before, and while usually the unknown made Emma feel a little awry, that night she hadn't been scared a bit.

And the way he had touched her- he made her feel like art, like a sculpture that had a sign on it warning people to stay away but it was just so beautiful he couldn't manage it. It had been holy worship, a private confession. He kissed her like his tongue was a brush and was painting the sistine chapel on her flesh. He removed each article of clothing from her as though he was undressing a goddess, kissing patches of skin as they were uncovered, mumbling words of praise as he went. "Perfect." "Beautiful." "Stunning."

Before she could even reach out to touch him- and how she had longed to touch him- he'd thrown her leg over his shoulder and, with a raised eyebrow, shook his head like he couldn't believe he was this lucky to have her in his bed. He looked at her straight in the eye and said, "I have wanted to taste you for two years now," and _he proved it._ After coming and coming again, she'd flipped him over to have her way with him, slithering down his toned body to touch him, to feel him in her hand and on her tongue.

She admired his impressive shaft, moaning around it as she remembered watching him perform as Macbeth in those tight pants, how he'd bucked into her on the dressing room counter the very next night. Being able to actually appreciate it fulfilled so many fantasies- including the one of him speaking out her name in ecstasy. Now that he actually knew her name he seemed to use it like a favorite prayer, moaning it in her ear, against her skin. She'd only had the satisfaction of worshiping his cock for a few minutes before, deciding he couldn't wait any longer, Killian pulled Emma upwards (with a squeal of shock escaping her lips) and rolled her over until he was hovering above her, kissing her neck, waiting for her permission to go further. When she gave it, _pleaded_ for it, he didn't make her beg for long.

When he was inside her, she saw stars.

They'd fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, sweaty and sated and content. When morning came however, the hunger deep in Emma's belly was renewed just by looking at the sleeping man next to her.

With a mischievous grin, Emma decided to lift her leg up, her knee slowly traveling towards his thigh and brushing against his impressive morning wood. She rocked slightly, teasing, like an experiment. She could feel his stomach rise with a sharp breath, and without opening his eyes, he spoke.

"You're not asleep, are you?"

Emma replied with a kiss.

Even though it was morning and he had been awoken rather rudely by a conniving blonde in his bed, Killian kissed her back enthusiastically, eyes fluttering open, arms wrapping around Emma as he rolled himself on top of her, erection pressing into her thigh.

"Minx," he whispered in her ear. And they slowly, lazily, made love for the second time.

And that was just the problem, wasn't it?

"Okay temptress," he murmured, kissing her cheek after they'd caught their breath. "Time for breakfast. What would you like?"

"Hmm. What can you make?" she countered, stretching lazily. He gazed at her figure with admiration and smiled.

"Your heart's desire, Swan. I promise, that's all I want you to have."

Emma blushed from head to toe, and now that she was naked in his bed he could actually see her coloring in all of its glorious detail. He brushed his fingers through her hair appreciatively, Emma nuzzling his hand in response.

"I remember you mentioning something about hot cocoa last night?" she questioned hopefully, raising an eyebrow. Killian chuckled, sitting up in bed.

"And maybe pancakes as well?" he suggested, grinning as he watched her eyes light up. With a kiss to her lips, he pulled on a pair of sweatpants. "You can join me in the kitchen if you're up to it, but then I am serving you in bed, like the _royalty_ you are. And you're _not_ allowed to raise a finger to help, so don't even try!" he ordered with a grin.

"Aye, aye, captain!" she replied, giving Killian a stern salute. He rolled his eyes, but chuckled all the same.

"Help yourself to anything in the closet, love. The shower is all yours, too," he offered. He was about to leave, but turned back to give her a second kiss, like he couldn't resist from indulging once more, before walking towards the door.

And this was where Emma had made her mistake. She could have just let him be, she could have let herself admire his lean, muscular figure as he walked out of the room and towards the kitchen. She could have changed into one of his shirts and watched him cook, maybe put good use to another counter after he finished.

But she didn't. Instead, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Killian," she called, and he turned around, eyebrows raised.

Emma bit her lip, for a moment wondering if she should say what was on her mind. But after what was easily one of the best nights of her life, she decided to just spit it out.

"Last night you told me that you'd found your happy ending. And then the coffee went off and things happened and I was just wondering… well, if you found it that means you know what it is. So… what is it?"

He looked at her incredulously, with actual surprise glinting behind those ocean blue eyes.

"Don't you know, Emma? _It's you_."

He tilted his head, a shadow of confusion still cast over his face, but with a certain satisfaction now. He smiled at her, before closing the door and walking off to the kitchen.

For a moment Emma felt _happy._

 _Her_ heart fluttered with happiness knowing she made _him_ happy and that they would be happy _together_ and then-

And then…

And then _panic_ fell over her, absolute _panic_ like the _walls were caving in and there was no air left in the room._

He _loved_ her. He didn't say it but he didn't have to. All of last night, the past year, all the talk of destinies and happy endings and-

 _And she loved him too._

And suddenly she was seventeen again, curled up in a theater basement with a blanket and math homework scattered all around her. Studying for the exam that would let her test out of school, give her a GED, and let her be emancipated from the foster system. She wanted to jumpstart her life, and instead she ended up pregnant and alone in a jail cell. Everything was put on hold.

 _Emma couldn't breathe._

Would her life be put on hold again put on hold hit pause because even now now with her career and with Henry she couldn't just bring some man into his life some movie star that would be away for months on end unstable and unsure as her feelings for him because _what did Emma really know about love_ and could she actually be sure that she loved him anyway because love had never treated Emma fairly and she had pulled away from him and _why was that maybe it was instinct_ good instinct instinct that would have saved her from heartbreak before all the heartbreak all the bricks and stones and locks that made up her walls and what if they split up and she would get laughed off the red carpet and have to quit Red Apple the job she loved so much and wanted to _fight_ for just like she fought for Henry just like she fought for herself against the system against the parents who abandoned her against the law against prison against _Neal_ against _Neal_ against _Neal_ and she COULD NOT BREATHE.

 _She needed air._

Emma threw on her clothes and opened up Killian's window, stepping out on the fire escape, just for a moment, just so she could inhale and exhale and inhale and exhale and run and run and run and run.

She was running down the stairs, running down the street, and running past people and cabs and running away- away from what she didn't exactly know. Away from everything.

Finally, when she could take no more, when she was near tears and exhaustion, Emma hailed a cab, giving the driver her address in a crazed half-shout. When she got to her apartment, she skipped over the elevator, opting to walk ten flights of stairs to distract her, keep her busy, distract her distract her distract her.

From what could easily be the worst mistake she'd ever made in her life.

* * *

The next morning, photos were already sprouting up online.

Nothing crazy, just Emma and Killian holding hands, their entwined fingers placed in his pocket as they'd walked to his flat the night before. It was so odd how she hadn't noticed anyone snapping any shots, but she'd been so eager to go with him, lightning could have struck the pavement in front of her and she wouldn't have noticed. That was probably one of the reasons it was best to leave it all behind.

Henry didn't mention anything, though Emma could tell from the look in his eye when she drove him to school that he was well aware of her situation with Killian Jones. She felt so guilty, wondering how this would play out for him at school.

"You sure you're up for class, kid? You're looking a little pale," she commented as they got in the bug, trying to give him an out.

"Mom, I'm fine," he responded with a preteen eye roll. Emma smiled. He was certainly a trooper, but she still felt a wave of dread washing over her. Had Henry stayed home, she would have had a reason to call out sick from work. When she'd woken up in the morning that was her first instinct, but the photos were out and everyone at Red Apple would have called her bluff had she said she was ill. Better to face it head-on than have people think she was hiding something.

She walked into the office holding her breath. A third of her coworkers looked down at their work so intensely she knew they were trying to make it easy on her by not staring. Another third of them looked up and hurriedly looked back down with a blush creeping into their cheeks, and the last third gawked at her shamelessly.

Emma strutted into her office and shut the door.

She had two events late in the week and had to do some research on them, so she busied herself with poring over the guest list to see who she wanted to interview, who had interesting things coming out, who would make her feel at ease unlike Zelena Green or a certain someone else she didn't want to see for a long, long-

" _Where is she?"_

Emma stood with a start, feeling and icy chill wash over her from head to toe.

His voice. Killian's.

She heard mumbles on the other side of the door, and she prayed that they would all get the hint that she wanted to be alone, that they would understand from his voice that the two of them were not in a good place right now.

But she heard footsteps coming to her door, and they were his. It swung open so quickly it hit the wall and shut itself, revealing a very exhausted looking Killian Jones, movie star, Oscar contender, and total wreck.

He stared at her like he wanted to say one million angry words, one million sad words, one million pleading words, but instead he settled on one.

"Why?"

Emma flinched, his tone devastating to her ears and her heart. She stared at her desk and tried to keep her voice steady.

"Look, this is not the time or the place-"

"No!" he interrupted, eyes blazing. "No, you do not get to say that. Last night, you escaping via _fire escape_ as I made you pancakes in the other room while totally oblivious was _not the time or the place_. That argument is finished; that ship has sailed. Why did you _leave_."

"Killian, this is my office-"

"And that was my home, my bed, the one I couldn't sleep in last night because it still bloody smells like you. And you left. You left _again_ and… and bloody hell, I'm at a loss for words!"

"Look, I can meet you someplace after work-"

"Oh!" he laughed sardonically, raking his fingers through his hair with a cold smile. "Right. So you can just, not show up. So you can quit your job, move to a new state, change your phone number, change your _name_ -"

"You're being dramatic!" Emma hissed, curling her fingers into fists. If she didn't get angry, she would get sad, and if she let herself feel the misery that she'd been suppressing for the past 24 hours there was no turning back and she _couldn't have that._

"And climbing out of a bloody window to escape me wasn't dramatic?" he demanded.

"I wasn't trying to escape _you_. I was just… I…"

He looked hopeful for a moment, and, for a second, Emma thought about how easy it would be to apologize, to make it up to him and go to dinner. For her to curl up in his arms that very night and tell him that she wanted a future with him even though she was scared, but for him, she would fight through the fear which was easier said than done but still… so easy.

But the easy thing was hardly ever the right thing. So she decided to be honest with him.

 _Meaning she decided to lie._

"Look. I told you, I never pretended that I… was trusting. Or loving. I told you that I was broken and you didn't believe me. So I'm sorry you misunderstood but I tried to be clear-"

"First of all, I did not bloody misunderstand, I did not misunderstand my feelings for you, nor did I misunderstand your feelings for me," he spat, practically shaking with feeling. "Now you may not have admitted them, but that's because I'm patient, I've always been patient until I couldn't be anymore, which is this very moment. But this ridiculous tale about you, what, giving me some kind of warning? That I should have expected this? So that's on me? You abandoning my flat yesterday morning with no note, no nothing, not a word, is my fault? What about me, Swan, what of my heart? My heartbreaks? My loss? My issues with… with trusting people until you came along. You don't think we're the same? Have I not lost enough as well?"

"I never said that!'"

" _Then what are you saying?_ " he shouted, bringing the room to a standstill.

And Emma wanted to curl up inside herself, in her own hatred, her own self-loathing, because the worst part was that _she didn't know._ All she knew was that the rotting, aching pain inside, it felt like it was being forcibly ripped out of her and she was bleeding on the carpet in front of him. But he couldn't see.

"I just… I just…" she stuttered, focusing not on words but trying to blink away tears. Killian scoffed, reaching out a hand to point at her face. His voice was softer now, wrecked with emotion.

"Even now, even now, you're about to cry. I see that, I see past your walls, always have. And I _want_ to wipe them away, to comfort you, to hold you. But I know that even if I tried, even if I took three steps towards you, that you wouldn't let me."

And, as if to prove his point, he took one step forward, and Emma couldn't stop herself. She wished more than anything she could go back one minute in time and change her decision, push herself towards him, into his arms.

But she stepped back.

Regret overcame her, destroyed her. Silence hung in the room, the worst tension that had ever existed between them. Emma no longer even attempted to hold back her tears as they stared at each other.

"Killian…" she sobbed out, trying to fix it, trying to make him _see._

"I understand," he said briskly, his voice cracking on the last syllable. Broken. And though he didn't, he really truly didn't, Emma never got the chance to tell him so. He turned around and left her office.

Emma crumbled into her chair, cracking into thousands of pieces. He'd once told her that he was a fan of every part of her, but now he would probably forevermore look at her with disgust. With that pain and brokenness she'd seen in his features before he left. She rubbed her eyes, both of them red and swollen, staring ahead at the wall in front of her, wondering how many people had heard her greatest regret play out live on the other side.

A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts, and she jostled, her heart hoping it was him- needing to be him. But when the door opened it was Belle. She was frowning, confirming Emma's suspicions that her argument with movie star Killian Jones had been more public than either of them would have wanted. But neither of them seemed to be getting what they wanted today.

"Emma, I'm so sorry, I just…" Belle trailed off, attempting to comfort her before coming to understand that there was nothing that could be said or done to fix the mess Emma was in. So she got to business. "I just need the interview answers, and I'll be out of your way."

Emma's heart sank as she realized with horror the reason she even met Killian yesterday, and now she'd let him and her work down in one fell swoop.

"Belle…." she croaked, face still streaked with tears. " _Please._ I need-"

"I'll call his manager," she interrupted, understanding. "No one has to know."

She left as gingerly as she came in, shutting the door behind her.

Leaving Emma alone to cry and cry and cry and cry until she had no more tears left to give.

* * *

Four months passed by in a blur.

A hateful, maddening, mind-numbing blur.

Emma threw herself into her work, her friends, her family. She was covering both red carpet and published interviews at Red Apple, participating in every school bake sale event even if all the other moms preferred Regina and her famously best selling tarts, and was easily bridesmaid of the year while planning Ashley and Thomas' wedding. He had surprisingly played her Prince Charming on Broadway, which resulted in a whirlwind love story that made Emma both weak in the knees and green with envy.

Awards season was a busy time of year, and Emma was covering the biggest event a red carpet reporter could ever tackle: the Oscars. It was her second year covering the Academy Awards, and while the LA division of Red Apple could have easily handed it, she had an in with the CEO.

Regina and Henry had come with her, Regina as Robin Lockley's date for the evening and Henry with the promise of a trip to Disneyland with his moms after the awards were over and done with.

Emma was not looking forward to any of it. Starting with Disney, Regina had the most methodical scheduled approach to theme parks in the world, and it sucked the life out of any spontaneity. And they always ended up bickering while Henry was riding Dumbo or running off for a Dole Whip.

But clearly the most menacing of events was the award ceremony where _he_ was nominated for Best Actor in a major motion picture. When the results had been announced her heart swelled with pride, only to be deflated with personal devastation.

Killian Jones had been extremely busy these past four months, and although he had a very healthy career, Emma couldn't help but think perhaps he'd thrown himself into his work like she had, maybe so he could even avoid her on the red carpet. Thinking of seeing him, having to interview him when it was all so raw inside… she knew it would make her feel like she was rotting away inside.

Which is why once Emma got off the plane, she realized she _couldn't_ do it.

She'd managed to power-walk to baggage claim, attempting to fight off the same anxiety that had hit her when she sat in his bed, left to reckon with the fact that Killian told her she was his happy ending.

And then she had left him. Just like that.

She wasn't scared of Killian. She was terrified of her shame, of him looking at her blankly like she no longer meant anything to him. It had taken her two seconds once he walked out of her office for her to realize that she'd made the biggest mistake of her entire life, but the way he stormed off, the disappointment in his voice… he never wanted to see her again. And to force herself on him would just make him upset.

Regina noticed Emma's paralyzed stature and told Henry to go look for their baggage on the carousel. Once Henry was off, the queen turned to face Emma with her arms crossed.

"Well?" she asked, like she already knew what Emma was about to say.

So she said it.

"I can't do the interviews. I can't go on the red carpet. Let me stay with Henry," Emma spoke, staring off at her son who was craning his head to see if the bags had dropped yet.

"Okay," Regina replied.

Emma turned to her, head tilted.

"That was unexpectedly easy," she said with surprise. "You flew me all the way out here on the company's dime and I just quit on you because of an ex…" she trailed off, sighing as Regina raised an inquisitive eyebrow. " _Something_ ," she finished lamely.

"Miss Swan, I flew you out here so we could argue at Disneyland while Henry undoubtedly has the time of his life. I wanted you to be our interviewer but I purposefully did not get my hopes up. The LA division will handle it," she said simply. It was Emma's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"That's it?" she asked.

Regina sighed.

"I would normally tell someone not to get involved with the people we work with, the talents that we cover. It leads to chaos and bias and many other terrible things but…" she shrugged, hiding a hint of a smile. "Look at who my date is tonight. Sometimes things are dangerous but you just have to take a chance," she finished, looking at Emma pointedly.

Emma hated it when Regina made sense, and while she appreciated the strangely relevant advice, she still felt like she needed to get on equal ground.

"Speaking of your date," Emma began, "I know you wanted us to share the big suite, but do you think that's it's a good idea to have said date and our kid under the same roof, so to speak? Especially if the date goes _well?"_

Regina turned a deep shade of crimson and muttered something about getting a room across from the suite.

And sure, maybe the comment was petty, but Emma felt _great._

They drove to the hotel and Regina went into full boss mode, taking three different conference calls during their twenty-five-minute ride from the airport. Waiting for her in the lobby was the stylist that was supposed to have dolled both Regina and Emma up for the awards, but now Regina was using the vacant hairdresser slot to force Robin into a trim.

Emma changed into her PJs instead of the expensive dress she'd rented, celebrating the tradition where she and Henry- along with Mary Margaret, David, Ruby, and anyone else who decided to come along- would watch the awards in their PJs. The previous year they'd opted to DVR it in Emma's absence and watch it together. Henry had threatened everyone against watching live or reading any spoilers so it was all still a surprise. This year, however, they could watch with just the two of them.

Emma stepped out of the bathroom just as Henry returned from checking out the pool.

"Mom, shouldn't you be getting ready?" he asked, tearing through his luggage.

Emma groaned internally. She was already a terrible person, a terrible worker. Why not add terrible mother to the list? What with Regina yammering on the phone the car ride there and then having to sort out work things on her boss' behalf, Emma had completely forgotten to tell Henry that she wouldn't be going tonight.

"Good news, kid," she tried to say brightly. "Turns out they don't need me tonight. So we called off the sitter and now you and I get to order in as much room service as we want and watch the awards in our PJs!"

Her heart sank in her stomach as Henry's face fell.

He was _disappointed._

'Umm.. okay, listen Henry," she tried. 'If you'd rather have Guinevere come and watch you, that's fine, I can head to the office-"

"No, mom!" Henry exclaimed. "I don't mind you being here. I really missed watching the awards with you last year. It's just…." he trailed off. Emma raised an eyebrow, suddenly suspicious.

"What are you hiding?" she asked.

Henry turned pink. "Noottthinnnngggg," he replied in a prepubescent whine, casting his eyes to the floor.

"Superpower!" Emma grinned, squinting her eyes. "Now tell me or I'll tickle it out!'

"NO!" Henry cried with a laugh, leaping behind the bed. He deliberated his circumstance for a moment before his face relaxed, and he suddenly looked a _startling_ amount like Regina. "Mom, I don't want to upset you, but if you want to know the truth, I have to be honest."

"Henry, why would you upset-"

He pulled out his choice pajamas for the evening with a frown.

 _Oh._

"Henry," she sighed, feeling once again like worst mom ever. He'd retrieved a set of Captain Hook pajamas from Killian's movie. She knew he was _really_ rooting for Killian to win the Oscar, and Emma should have guessed. "Henry, that doesn't bother me. Please, wear them. I want him to win too!" she added, hoping that would help, but she'd accidentally forced the excitement just a bit too much. That would have slid past him when he was ten, but now he was freshly thirteen.

"No, mom, it's okay. I'll wear my normal clothes."

That answer did not fly with Emma, and after asking Henry three more times if he would wear the pajamas, she picked the car key off the counter and drove them both to a Target where she got him brand new pjs. He opted for a pair of checkered blue pajama pants similar to hers so they could "match," and suddenly she felt like she wasn't such a terrible mother anymore.

He was rewarded with an Apollo bar for being the greatest son in the universe.

By the time they got back to the hotel, Regina and Robin were gone. Henry was in charge of ordering room service- a filet mignon with steamed edamame for him, a grilled cheese and onion rings for her, hot chocolate and cheesecake all around- and Emma tried to ignore the texts and tweets coming at her from friends and "fans" asking her where she was.

She posted a picture of herself and Henry on Instagram just to calm them all down.

Emma was dealing with the food- the kitchen had forgotten to send up the onion rings- when Henry called out "My mom is on tv!"

And so she was. Regina looked radiant next to Robin, who had been nominated along with Mulan for directing Macbeth. Emma smiled as she noted his hair was mysteriously a tad shorter than when he'd entered the hotel. Anna Arendelle, who worked at the LA division of Red Apple, was bubbly with delight as she interviewed them, though she nervously announced "This is so much fun because you're my boss and could fire me if I asked a weird question- not that I WOULD ask a weird question, but if I did, you could, hah, YIKES, right?"

Regina played off the situation cooly. "No one is getting fired tonight, Anna. Nothing bad happens on Oscar night."

"I'm counting on it!" Robin joked, and off they went to get their photos taken together.

Emma had a great time watching, and Henry was having a blast guessing who would win and rattling off trivial about different celebrities and their movies, but she couldn't help but notice something strange. Killian Jones had yet to make an appearance on her screen.

The more she thought about it the odder it became. He was nominated and the frontrunner for the award for god's sake. She wondered if in her efforts to stay away from any mention of him she'd missed some article about how he would be accepting the award via Skype if he won because he was off filming in Antarctica or something. She couldn't help but smile when she remembered the reason he'd been late for his premier of Macbeth, a smile that quickly turned on itself when she wondered if some other blonde reporter had broken a heel and was in need of rescuing.

When Anna interviewed Mulan, who had brought Merida, the stunts coordinator as her date and _curse all of these fairytale romances happening around her_ , Emma seemed to get her answer. Mulan mentioned Killian and how proud she was of him, and the second his name was mentioned, Anna's face spelled out _stress._ Apparently Killian's absence was worrying everyone, even Merida had been frantically glancing around the red carpet searching for him.

"He's probably in the opening number. Maybe he's rehearsing," Henry suggested, reading her mind. Emma nodded, though it still seemed fishy.

Fifteen minutes later and all of the red carpet interviews were over and the show was beginning. Actor and comedian Will Scarlet was hosting, and he began a flashy musical number to welcome everyone to the Academy Awards.

Both Emma and Henry were bouncing along to the catchy tune when there was a knock on the door.

"Onion rings!" Emma answered Henry's unasked question, bounding out of the bedroom to the door and swinging it open.

"Thank god, I was starv-" she began, but then she looked up. Emma's jaw suddenly unhinged and she gasped, dropping her wallet to the floor in shock. The person before her was no hotel employee.

It was Killian Jones.

The man she hadn't seen for four months, the man she hadn't been able to get off her mind, the man who had haunted her every waking moment… he was standing in front of her.

"Killian," she whispered, staring at him blankly. "How did you-"

"I had Robin pickpocket Regina's bag to find out what hotel you were all staying at," he replied out of breath, clearly having just run all the way to her suite. "And then I flirted with the woman at the desk to get your room number. I'm sorry, but I did, and I'm actually not sorry a bit," he finished with a pant.

"Oh," she replied, impressed. He nodded.

"I wanted to see you," he admitted, finally slowing down his breaths to a reasonable pace.

Emma didn't know what to do but look at him, take in the man she hadn't seen in so long but had dreamt of meeting again. She didn't want this to be the last she'd ever see of him and not have his image properly imbedded into her mind. She wanted to remember him, always, so her eyes took in every detail they could.

He was so undeniably handsome. He wore a navy blue three-piece suit with a black tie and gold chain holding his jacket in place, hair groomed to the side, the way he did it for all red carpet events. For a moment she stupidly wondered what the occasion was before gasping.

"Killian, you can't be here! The awards just started! Will Scarlet is tap-dancing as we speak! You have to-"

"Curse the bloody awards!" he exclaimed with a sudden vivacity before looking her square in the eye. "Emma, I have missed you. I have missed you so much and my life isn't the same without you in it. I have _suffered_ through these four months, and I know you wanted space, I know I should stay away, but I can't anymore. Not when I knew you were here. I'm sorry, love, I'm sorry if I've failed you, if I'm overstepping boundaries, but I promise. I've _tried_ to just ignore it, throw myself into my work-"

"I have too," she interrupted, overcome with how suddenly vital these words seemed to be. "But it didn't work. I can't get you out of my head and the way I treated you, oh my god, Killian, I thought you'd never want to see me again, but I hoped something would change your mind," she confessed, voice shaking but intentions firm. "I _never_ should have left, I _never_ should have stepped back, I _never_ should have lied to you and-"

"No, love," he cut in, reaching out to cup her face. One touch from him and her heart swelled with joy and completion at the fact that he was _here,_ and this time it didn't shrink back down to hide away behind walls and fears, and she didn't think it ever would again because he was smiling at her like he never had before. "I know you've been hurt, and I have too, but I walked away and it was the greatest mistake I ever made. _I will never stop fighting for us_ , and the way I see it, I can go to a daft awards show or I can go try to win back the _woman I love_."

And those words- those words made Emma glow, and suddenly everything in her life seemed to make sense, like it was back on track and that future that she'd been so scared of, well now it was the only thing she dreamed of wanting.

"I love you too," she sniffled. With that he kissed her. Killian wrapped his strong arms around her torso and leaned her back so she was in a half dip, her heart brimming with butterflies and joy- she was his happy ending, and he was hers, and this was their fairy tale romance.

"Woah, you're _Killian Jones!"_

They broke apart, and Emma hid her face in her hands as she realized Henry was standing in the hallway with a dazed expression on his face. Killian, however, looked as though nothing could ever bring him more joy than getting to meet Emma's son at this exact moment in time.

"You must be Henry!" he exclaimed, beaming.

Henry looked entirely taken aback.

"Who cares who I am, you're Killian Jones, and we need to get you to the Oscars!"

With a hearty laugh, Killian kissed Emma one more time before grabbing her hand and giving her a wink. "Come on, love, let's sail away!"

* * *

They made it backstage moments before best actor was to be announced, Killian dragging a pajama-clad Henry and Emma through the high security hallways, and she felt like they were back in the Public Theater. Emma and Killian were trying their best to hold back giggles, but Henry was far too awed to even voice an impressed squeak.

As the presenters came onstage, Killian turned to Emma, holding her hands in his.

"I just want to let you know, that I don't care if I win and I don't care if I lose. When I look back on this day, I won't even think about awards or work or anything of the sort. I'll remember-"

"-your happy ending. _Me_ ," she beamed, and a beautiful wave of joy spread over his features as he finally watched her accept his love and heart, but before he could kiss her, a voice rang out.

"And the Oscar goes to Killian Jones, Macbeth!"

Killian's jaw dropped in utter surprise, and as Henry leapt in the air with a shout, Emma threw her head back with laughter, feeling every happy emotion someone could ever possibly feel at once. Killian ran out onto the stage with a brilliant grin, surprising everyone with his sudden appearance. Once he was handed the award, the room settled down, and he looked out into the crowd with such humility, Emma wanted to cry.

"I am so grateful for this, and I know I need to thank Robin and Mulan and the cast and crew and my brother Liam…" he began. "But genuinely, all that I can think to really say right now is, Emma Swan, will you have dinner with me?"

And the entire auditorium erupted into a deafening roar of cheers and applause. They kept clapping and clapping until Henry pushed his mother onstage, and Emma, wearing just her blue checkered pajamas, ran up to him- in front of the audience, in front of the TV watchers, in front of the _world_ \- and she kissed him as the universe seemed to cheer her on.

If this was her happy ending… well, she could _definitely_ settle with that.


End file.
